


To Fall for You

by There_Once_Was_A_Girl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hellhounds, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, LITERALLY, M/M, Sherlock is the Devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/There_Once_Was_A_Girl/pseuds/There_Once_Was_A_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer is given a second chance, to repent and learn to love humanity. To this end God sends him to live among the humans and he is born into a new life as Sherlock Holmes.  </p>
<p>I wrote a thing. Fair warning I basically grabbed the names of angels and made up my own shit so none of the mythology is accurate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Naturally I don't own Sherlock or any related stuff, I'm just playing.
> 
> Again, I made up my own mythology for archangels, just go with it. 
> 
> Also this was semi-inspired by the song "Arsonist's Lullaby" By Hozier. 
> 
> Finally, this is my first multi-chapter fic, and it is entirely unbeta-ed.

When he stepped onto the hospital roof Sherlock felt truly frightened for the first time in a very long time. He didn’t want to face this enemy. He didn’t want to risk losing himself during this encounter. It had been so long… He wasn’t sure what to expect from Gabriel. The archangel had gone more than a little insane since they had descended to live among the humans. It had started long before that, but had obviously only gotten worse. He had always been a bit mad and more than a bit arrogant, but this was more than Sherlock had expected. Moriarty was more than Sherlock had ever expected. 

"Gabriel." He addressed, pleased to use the man's real name for the first time since they had met in this lifetime. 

"Hello, little brother." Gabriel/Moriarty greeted. 

"Don't call me that." Sherlock growled. It had been a long time since he had been this man's sibling. 

"What should I call you?" Gabe asked, his voice teasing. "Sheerrlock? Really. I don't know about the name you picked."

"Really, Moriarty?" Sherlock asked drily. At least he had merely chosen Sherlock from amongst his given names, he doubted that Moriarty had been the name Gabriel had been given at the beginning of this life.

"Oh and Holmes? Did you pick that or was it our dear brother?" Moriarty asked. 

"I do not want to discuss Mycroft." Sherlock said sharply, knowing he shouldn’t have reacted. He could have told the truth. Holmes was the name they were born with. He should have pretended that it didn’t matter to him, but he couldn’t talk to Gabriel about his older brother. 

"So emotional..." Moriarty started, eyebrows raised.

He kept talking. And Sherlock started to see what was going on. He saw why his brother had stayed away instead of helping, why he had done his best in recent times to tear apart Sherlock’s life. He finally understood why Gabriel had wanted to destroy him. Sherlock had betrayed him. They had been closer than any of their other brothers, no doubt the fall had hurt Gabe nearly as badly as it did Sherlock himself. The betrayal. Gabriel had hated him. Hated him in a way none of the other ever really had, even Michael. Now Sherlock was given a chance of redemption, but Gabriel wouldn’t stand for it. He wanted him to be punished and stay punished. So he wanted tear away the happiness that Sherlock had found in his human life, and ruin his chance at redemption. If Sherlock didn’t jump off the roof all of his friends would die. There was nothing that he could do but die. Die and return to where he had come from. 

"Gabriel, stop this!" He begged. No matter how much they fought they had always been brothers. Gabriel had always been his closest brother, the one who was meant to be his counterpart. He knew Gabriel and how he worked. He knew that Gabe would have kept a way to call off the gunmen. He had to figure out how to make it happen. It was too late, probably centuries too late. Gabriel surged forwards and kissed him one last time, then he pulled his gun. He was on the ground and half of his head was gone. Sherlock fell backwards in shock, his mind was spinning. Gabriel was gone. Gone from this world, undoubtedly back in Heaven now. That’s how this worked, when they died here they went back to where they had come from. Gabriel had been sent down from heaven. Sherlock had been pulled up from below. 

"Gabriel." He gasped, his voice rasping. He never could have imagined this. He had never thought that his brother could betray him like this. Yet he couldn’t help believing that it was his fault, his fault, his fault. Gabriel had only betrayed a betrayer. He had merely sent himself back home. He had hated it here. And Sherlock felt a stab a guilt. 

It was for him that Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael had come to earth. It was for him that they had lived human lives for all these years. They hadn’t exactly had a choice, that was true, father had never really been for letting people in on his almighty plans. Michael and Raphael had both come around to it, or at least had begrudgingly accepted their roles as his guardians, his keepers. They were supposed to help him. Not that he made it particularly easy for the two of them.  
All four of them had been sent to earth by their father. He had claimed that Gabriel had grown too arrogant, and needed to be humbled. That Michael had grown too out of touch with the humans and needed to be reminded of what they were. And Sherlock… he was to be given a second chance. His punishment was to be over. But first he must redeem himself through his mortal life. Gabriel and Michael were tasked with looking after him amongst the humans while they served their own penances. 

 

They had been ignorant when they were young. They had grown up as “normal humans” until they had reached puberty. He had been just William Sherlock Holmes for sixteen glorious years. He may have been different, he may have felt like an outcast, but he had still been an innocent human being, or at least felt like one. Then it had all come crashing down on him, his true identity. All the weight that his identity carried had come crashing onto his shoulders to carry again. It had been too much. 

What had they expected? That they could put all that on a boy who thought that he was human and expect him to hold up well? No. He had turned down an unsavory path, it was his forte after all. His brother had tried to help him, but Sherlock had never been able to bear his eldest brother’s superiority. Mycroft, Michael, he was the same pompous interfering ass whatever you called him. Father had known they didn’t get along. He had been counting on Gabriel to help Sherlock. To be his friend as he always had been. Except he had never turned up. Surely he had realized his own identity at around the same time Sherlock had, but he hadn’t come flying to meet his brothers. He had stayed away for so long, kept himself hidden from their eyes. 

Father had sent back up, though. Raphael had appeared to support Michael, to help Sherlock. He had in fact, been sent down not long after his brothers. He had appeared at an orphanage as a five year old boy, with no idea who he was. Father had always had a back up plan, Raphael was his. He hadn’t been sure if he would need to awaken his memories, but he had sent him there anyway. Raphael had been much better at being a human. Even when they hadn’t known who they were both Sherlock and Mycroft had been odd. Raphael had fit in perfectly, as he always did. He was a kind soul, a nurturing soul, despite his ferocity. As such, he was much older when he discovered his true identity, in his mid-twenties. Yet he had stayed his course. Contacted Mycroft so that his brother was aware that he was on earth, and aware of the situation, but had remained upon his life path. He had insisted that Father had placed him away from the others for a reason, he would play his role in helping Sherlock later in life. He was right to do as he did of course. He was always right. 

Which was how, in the darkest time of his human life, when he was full of regret, fear, and pain, Sherlock Holmes had been picked out of the gutter he had landed in and carried back to the home of Detective-Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Sherlock hadn’t even recognized him at first due to how well he blended in, and to how many drugs Sherlock was on, and then because he was suffering from withdrawal (among other things). It wasn’t until the day he had walked shakily from Lestrade’s spare room, dead cold sober and white as a sheet, that he had seen through the disguise. 

“Raph?” His voice had been so hoarse from disuse and the shit withdrawal had done to his body. 

“I’ve missed you, little brother.” Raphael had said. Sherlock had never been able to explain exactly how he had suddenly ended up wrapping his arms around his brother. He had never been a hugger. Not in this life and certainly not before… but Raphael did bring that out in him, in everyone. He hugged Raphael tightly for a long time, but when he let go he resolved to act as he always did. As a man. He wanted to live this life as if he was a man even if he knew he was more. Raphael/Lestrade had understood. He had just offered Sherlock the chance to help on some unsolved cases. 

The whole world had opened and gotten brighter. The Work was everything. Sherlock still struggled to care about people, it had been his great failure, but after as many years as he had spent… in unsavory places, he had learned more about humanity. He had never seen them at their best, but there was something admirable in the resilience of even the darkest souls. He had engulfed himself in the work, which meant he actually ended up helping people. It was strange. He had never known how to react to these people who were grateful. In a way being treated like an outcast was reassuring, it was within his comfort zone. Still, somehow people had worked their way past his boundaries. Mrs Hudson. Molly. John…. Oh god, John. The man who had somehow looked at him and seen something extraordinary.

Sherlock had relaxed into his life. He had grown comfortable, and reached something akin to happiness. Then He had come. Moriarty. Gabriel. Their long lost brother, driven mad by human life, and by his own arrogance starting long before that. Sherlock couldn’t help wondering how this had driven his brother mad… earth was so much better than the alternative punishment for arrogance in angels. Sherlock knew that all too well. Gabriel had torn his happy life apart and now he would hammer in the final nail.

Sherlock was shaken back into the present, with his brother lying dead at his feet, and guns aimed at the heads of his only three friends. Gabriel’s sudden absence from this realm felt like a knife through his chest, he knew that Michael and Raphael must have felt it as well. But there was no time to contact them. This was Moriarty’s final revenge. He would take away the last shreds of Sherlock’s life. His chance at redemption. All Sherlock could do now was die. If he died he went back. Even if he didn't, John saw him jump, and he would have to make sure everyone believed him dead or Moriarty might have contingency plans. (He always did). Even if Sherlock didn't die, he had lost his chance. For he knew, just as he was sure that his brother did, that losing John was more than Sherlock could bear. 

He called John. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it would have to do. He jumped. It was harder than he had expected to let himself fall. He fought to keep his wings furled safely in a non-existent plane for every moment of it. He would not save himself. He knew better. So he fell and let himself die. 

 

Then he woke up. He was somewhere comfortable and warm. Warm? He had not been expecting that. Despite all the stories people told, warm was not a descriptor frequently used where he had expected to end up. Horribly, bitterly, painfully cold, yes but never warm. His eyes flew open and he looked around a familiar room. Mycroft's guest bedroom to be exact. He was alive. Still alive. Still on earth. He knew that chances were his friends all thought that he was dead and everything that truly mattered to him had been torn away from him, but still. He was still here. Still Sherlock. The pure relief of that nearly broke him. He took a moment to enjoy that, to let himself celebrate his continued life. He allowed himself exactly ten seconds before turning his focus onto how he could have survived such a jump. His human body should have died which ought to have sent him back. The door swung open.

“My son.” A voice said calmly, warmly. A voice that Sherlock hadn’t heard in several millenia. He couldn’t stop staring, staring at the face of his father. He leapt to his feet and approached quickly. Without much thought he knelt before his father’s feet. Knelt as he hadn’t done in so long. As he had refused to do at the end of it all. It seemed so idiotic looking back. For what did it mean to kneel anyway. He could still be free and rebellious in his heart while resting here, while given the chance to know his father’s love once more (not that he was particularly rebellious in that sense anymore). His father placed a gentle hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and when he spoke his son’s name for the first time in millennia his voice was overwrought with emotion.

“Lucifer.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter in which Sherlock has a much needed conversation with his father.

“Lucifer.”

It had been so many years since Sherlock had heard his real name. He had insisted that Mycroft never call him that. He didn't want to be Lucifer anymore. Being Lucifer meant being the devil, and he refused to think about those years. About the tortured souls, about the demons he was tasked with controlling. His underlings and his captors. Everyone seemed to think he had wanted the demons, had enjoyed his time as a tormentor of souls. He had not. Not after the beginning. In the beginning he had been insane. He had tortured, killed, been the devil everyone expected. It had taken few thousand years or so for him to regain his right mind. Since then it had been torture. 

Everyone forgot that he was an angel, and he was being tortured as much as mortals were when they were damned to hell. He hated the wretched demons. He hated his job. Not that he ever did it, after those early days. The pit took power from his life-force to power it and torture souls. For the last few centuries he had done nothing but sit in his cage curled upon himself, and lose himself in his mind as much as possible. He had been so alone, in so much pain. A great deal of his pain was merely the absence of Gabriel. Archangels had been designed by their father to come in pairs. He had been designed to be one half of a whole, and Gabriel was meant to be the other. Some of it caused by the pit, and some simply the absence of his father. That was part of being an angel, being programmed to love their father, to be pained by his absence. Lucifer had resented it, Sherlock accepted it; his penance and his punishment, even as he was offered a chance at a redemption

 

He shook off the thoughts of hell and his existence before that. He packed away his identity, the same way he hid away his wings. He had not brought them out since he had left the pit. 

“My dearest son, you cannot hope to find redemption if you hide from who you are.” His father said softly. “You are doing so well, you’ve learned to appreciate humanity, to respect them. You’ve even learned to love them.” 

“Some of them.” Sherlock interjected. He couldn’t help it, he was still Sherlock Holmes after all, whatever else he was. He cringed when he realized he had contradicted his father, but to his surprise, God just laughed. 

"Yes, some of them, well I couldn't ask for more than that." He chuckled. "But you aren't done here yet, my child. You must learn to accept, to come to terms with all that is your life, before you come home." 

"I can't." He said, pleadingly, "John thinks that I'm dead. He has too. I can't…” He trailed off. When had he become so dependent. How had he reached a point where he could not bear the thought of living on this earth without John Watson. 

“You’ve learned what it means to be in love.” His father observed, “It is a beautiful sort of pain isn’t it?” He asked.

“It’s terrifying.” Sherlock answered weakly. For this was different than loving his father. Not more powerful, but so much more terrifying.

“Yes. I cannot help you with that. But I can help you with this. You are alive. Your friends do not know it, and they cannot know it until your brother’s network has been destroyed, to ensure their safety. After that...” He trailed off with a pleasant smile. Sherlock looked up in hope and shock. 

“I could- I could live again? See John?” He asked. His father nodded, a kind affectionate smile on his face. 

“I do hope that you do." He murmured, "Despite what your brother has done. None of that was my intention."

"Gabriel." Sherlock said softly, "What has become of him?"

"He's imprisoned." God confessed, "He is, quite insane, regrettably. He has betrayed you, me, and everything angels stand for."

"It's my fault." Sherlock murmured, "Gabriel." The word was breathed with pain of losing his brother. It was a pain he always felt, for the past several millenia. 

"No, that was my fault not yours." His father murmured, "My fault for designing two independent souls to be two halves of one whole. And it was my fault for letting you fall and leaving the two of you attached in that way. I never even tried to prevent the pain your brother felt because of your absence. He went insane because of that." 

"That doesn't mean it wasn't my fault as well." Sherlock told him. 

"We share the blame in all that has happened." His father corrected, "All of it. There is no pure good, purely faultless being in the world, and there is certainly nothing that embodies pure evil. Even if there was, it would never be you." Sherlock didn't know what to say. His father just smiled a sad sort of smile. 

"Your brother has all the relevant information on dismantling Moriarty's network." He said. “I'll leave you now, my son.” He added. Sherlock nodded and stood.   
“Thank you, father, for everything you have done.” He said, and it came out in Enochian instead of English. It made God smile. 

“If I may pose a question?” he asked, also in Enochian. It was like something from a dream being here with his father, calling him son, and speaking in their original tongue. He nodded in welcome. “Why have you refrained from prayer all these years? I would have understood if you seemed to hate or resent me but, I can sense no anger towards me on your part.” 

“I didn’t think my prayers would be welcome to your ears. It seemed an impertinence.” Sherlock answered carefully. His father laughed again. 

“And you actually cared?” he asked, then waved a hand, “No, don’t answer that. I’ll leave you now Lucifer, but know that it would be good to hear your voice again.” He said, then vanished promptly. Sherlock stared at the last place he had been, then fell back down onto the bed in which he had awoken. He didn’t move from that spot until Mycroft entered the room, carrying a thick file. When he saw Sherlock on the bed he looked mildly concerned. 

“Sherlock?” he asked, just like that the younger angel was on his feet. 

“Yes. Thank you.” He said grabbing the file and sweeping out of the room. He had work to do. He didn’t see the regretful look Mycroft sent after him. 

Michael knew what Gabriel had meant to Sherlock, his betrayal He couldn’t imagine the pain of Raphael betraying him, it was more horrible than he wanted to think about. He pushed the thought from his mind and went to find the detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry if my formatting sucks. Also, Enochian being the language of angels is taken from Supernatural, I don't own that either.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. As always comments and Kudos are appreciated!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has spent two years away from home when Mycroft finally comes for him, but he hasn't spent the entirety of it alone.

It took Sherlock two years to finally eradicate every trace of the horrible web that Gabriel had created. He found himself both impressed and horrified by it. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, to create something so elaborate and awful. He wondered often, if his time in the pit had poisoned Gabriel. They had always been connected in a different way than he had been connected to his other brothers. It was the way the archangels worked. They came in pairs, neither quite complete without the other. The relationships between pairs were… complicated. He knew that Gabriel had been beyond pained when he fell. He had been left, the seventh archangel, isolated and alone. Sherlock knew how horrible it was, he was on the other side of it. Now he wondered if he had somehow made Gabriel darker, and more insane while Sherlock seemed to grow lighter. He knew it was foolish but he couldn’t stop blaming himself. He never would. Gabriel was now locked away in heaven’s prison, never to escape, as he heard from Mycroft who was told by their father. 

Two years of loneliness. Traveling the world by himself. No John. No Gabriel. Not even Mycroft or Lestrade to keep him company. It almost made him long for the company of the few friends he had made in the pit, not that they had been good company. It had been hard to resist Irene when she had come to him. One of his demons, formerly a muse, who had been released into the world again. All of his followers who had fallen with him were back in the human world now. Most of them didn’t remember who they had been, unlike the angels. Irene had known, though. She had been too dark, she had enjoyed hell. Sherlock had once envied her. So she had let herself die and had returned to the pit. She ruled in his place, a cold hearted demon queen. She would do well there. He hoped his father let her keep the job. 

Sherlock traveled as a human at all times. He wouldn’t take his wings out. He refused to let them reach the air. He had vowed to himself that he never would. Finally after a year he gave in and called for the one companion he had enjoyed the company of in the pit. The hellhound appeared to him joyously, scrambling and trying to lick his face. Suddenly he felt bad for not calling to Fire earlier. He was a sorry excuse for a hellhound really, too happy, not very vicious. The demon who owned his mother would have killed him but you didn’t refuse the Lord of Hell when he ordered you to give him that puppy. Sherlock had raised Fire, named him that ironically, as he was still as black as night like all hounds. In the mortal realm he appeared as a Bernese Mountain dog. That nearly made Sherlock laugh, most hellhounds appears as more aggressive, or at least intimidating dogs, his was just a giant fluffy mess. 

“I hope they didn’t treat you too poorly Fire.” He said, running his hands through the dog’s long fur. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the hellhound. Fire had been his only true companion in Hell. No wonder he had had such an affinity for dogs when he was young. Why hadn’t he called to Fire before? Right, Hell hound. He hadn’t wanted anything near him that associated him with Hell. But his father said he needed to learn to accept it. So he kept the large dog by his side whenever possible, but sent him home when it wasn’t. He made a point of never leaving Fire in the pit for too long after the first time he summoned him. It was cruel to send him back when the dog clearly hated it. He even got him a collar, though not a leash. He had trained Fire for several centuries, he obeyed every command Sherlock gave. 

It was two years before Mycroft had come and asked him to come back. Two years John thought he was dead. Two years was hardly any time at all really, to a being that had lived for so long, for thousands and thousands of years, two years was the blink of an eye. So why did it feel so unspeakably long. Like several lifetimes. He posed a similar question to his brother when Mycroft finally came to find him. 

"The longer we spend here, the longer the years seem." Mycroft drawled, clearly understanding. 

"I suppose you hate it, just as I'm sure Raphael loves it." Sherlock commented. 

"I have no qualms against living a long life here, on earth. It seems a good way to pass a century does it not?" Mycroft said. Sherlock studied his brother. Michael had changed, just as he had. And there was more. 

"He finally gave in then" He observed with a smile. Archangels came in pairs. Mycroft's counterpart had always been Raphael. All angels were brothers in a sense, in that god had created all of them, but the familial type bonds were limited. Most of them barely knew each other, sometimes openly disliked each other. The sets however, well it was complicated. Or it usually was. Gabriel and he had never been able to figure out their dynamic. They were alternatively best friends, rivals, or lovers. Sometimes all three at once. They had been like two objects caught in each other’s orbit, each straining away from each other, but falling inexorably closer, until they had exploded. 

Michael and Raphael had always been so simple in comparison. Raphael was completely devoted to Michael. Raphael was also the only being in the universe that Michael loved more than himself. They grounded each other, and inspired each other. They loved each other in a way that Sherlock had not previously understood. There was never any question of where they stood. They were a couple, had always been more or less an old married couple. They bickered like a normal married couple sometimes as well, but they loved each other. Except recently Michael had become so self-centered, so withdrawn and unfeeling towards humanity (if not towards Raphael) that the kinder angel had taken a break from him. He had told his husband that he would return to his side when Michael had rediscovered his heart. That had been just about a century ago. Forever to a human, but really the blink of an eye to an angel. It was a minor spat really, but Michael had been mopey ever since they had come to earth and Raphael had still refused to come back to him. Now he had a sparkle in his eye that Sherlock knew meant only one thing. 

“At long last my husband has finally come home, and I am complete.” Mycroft said with a smile. Then he forced his face blank. “My apologies, that was likely insensitive.” He said. Sherlock shook his head. 

His brother was talking about Gabriel. Moriarty. His companion. They were supposed to complete each other but the problem was, both of them had always been too independent of each other. They hadn’t ever wanted to need each other. They cared about each other, and loved each other in their own way, but Mycroft was wrong if he thought that Sherlock had loved Gabriel as Mycroft loved Lestrade, or that he mourned him in the same way. No. They had been many things, he and Gabriel, he and Moriarty, but they had never been a couple. Even when they slept together it was almost as if they were striving against each other. Sherlock hadn’t known the sort of love that his older brothers shared until he had come to earth. 

“Has he come home, though?” Sherlock asked to distract himself from thoughts of Moriarty, and of John, somehow one always brought up the other. “I mean, has he moved in with you? That seems like it would be rather difficult to explain.” 

“No. He insists that we proceed semi-slowly at least in the public eye. I’m still not exactly sure what about our relationship needs to be in the public eye, but so be it.” Mycroft said rolling his eyes. 

“Our brother has friends who would be confused by his sudden change in lifestyle, especially as until now he has mostly posed as straight.” Sherlock pointed out. Mycroft scowled. 

“Stupid classifications. Gay. Straight. It’s idiotic.” He muttered. Sherlock ignored him. Angels didn’t really have genders. It was complicated. So much about them was complicated. Lucifer usually opted not to think about it. He paused for a moment, ignoring whatever it was that his brother said next, because he had just thought of himself by his original name. He hadn’t done that in years. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good or bad sign. 

“You smell like hellfire.” Mycroft said, frowning. Sherlock nearly laughed at that, at the accuracy of it. 

“I smell like Fire, that’s true.” he agreed. When his brother just looked confused he sighed. “Fire is my dog, Mycroft, really try to keep up.” he said rolling his eyes. He whistled and Fire appeared out of the shadows. To his credit Mycroft did not startle at the sudden appearance of a hellhound. 

“You have a pet hellhound?” he inquired, voice dripping with judgement. 

“Yes. I am the Prince of Hell am I not? I am allowed to keep hellish pets.” Sherlock shot back. Mycroft looked surprised to hear Sherlock claim his place in the pit with something like pride. 

“Yes. I suppose you are. Though he doesn’t look particularly hellish. I thought that hellhounds were supposed to be vicious, ugly, bloodthirsty beasts.” He commented. 

“Fire has been with me for centuries. He’s a good and loyal companion, the only one I had for a very long time.” Sherlock said, “He is different from other hellhounds, I’ll admit, he is a kind beast. He never wanted to hurt a soul and I ensured that he didn’t have to, and that his pack didn’t slaughter him for his peaceful inclinations.” He admitted when his brother just stared. 

“You found the one and only peaceful hellhound and made him your only companion? This is how you spent your time as Satan?” Mycroft asked flatly. 

“Don’t use derogatory slurs please Michael, I thought you were above that.” Sherlock protested irritably, “Call my by either of my proper names if you must refer to me at all.” 

“I was unaware that you were offended by your many nicknames. I’ll make sure not to use them in the future.” Mycroft said, and he sounded genuinely surprised. 

“Did you really not know, when I have so long rejected my own given name simply because it is seen as equivalent to all the others?” Sherlock demanded. “I couldn’t bear to be called Lucifer because it is seen as the same as Satan, and Devil” He spat the names. “My name once meant bringer of light, morning star. My wings once shone pure white with the light of all the stars. Now Lucifer is associated with shadows. I became a scapegoat. The reason that everything and anything went wrong even if I had nothing to do with it. I am seen as the epitome of evil, while you and our brothers are still raised up. You are showered with praise and prayers. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a prayer directed towards me by someone who is not insane?” he demanded. Michael had gone silent. Then to his utter astonishment his brother pulled him into a hug, his wings materializing and wrapping around Sherlock. 

Sherlock remembered when he had been young, the first time, not in this human lifetime. Michael had been his eldest brother, and Lucifer had always seen him as comfort and safety. When he was upset he would often run to Michael’s side and if his older brother was in the mood he would wrap Lucifer up in his wide golden wings. Often times he was far too busy to deal with his youngest sibling, which would send Lucifer running to Gabriel to rant instead. This had grown more frequent than the comfort, but those hugs being surrounded by golden plumage, were some of his earliest memories of what comfort meant. He let himself relax into his brother’s hold for a moment now. 

“I’m so sorry.” Mycroft murmured, “I threw you down there. I didn’t want to… but I never thought to question father. I have regretted that fight for millennia, Lucifer. My brother. Can you ever forgive me for all that I’ve done?” He asked as he stepped back so he could look at his brother. 

“I don’t know what to say to that.” The younger angel answered. Michael’s golden wings (which if Sherlock was being honest, he thought were rather pretentious) drooped. 

“I never held you responsible, Michael. Never.” Lucifer swore to his brother. It was the truth. He had been angry with Michael, of course he had, in the same way he had been angry with them all at the beginning. He had held it against his father. He had been furious with God. He had hated him, or tried. He had done a great many horrible things in those early times that was true. He had gone insane. Eventually all of it just faded, when he came back to his right mind (which admittedly took a very long time). He had been tired, unable to hold onto any anger or hatred. All he had wanted from that point on, was to forget hell, and the horrors he had once wrought there, and go home. Except he couldn’t, not for a very very long time. 

“I- Thank you.” Mycroft said awkwardly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and they both went back to their normal routine of mutual dislike and disdain. Mycroft was filling Sherlock in on everything he needed to know about the current situation in London, but there was only one thing which really mattered to Sherlock.

“How are you planning on telling him?” Mycroft asked. 

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll just pop over to Baker Street. Maybe pop out of a cake.” Sherlock said sarcastically. 

“Sherlock, he’s not there anymore.” Mycroft said with a sneer, “Why would he be? He’s moved on.” Sherlock decided to take back all of the kindly thoughts he had been having about Mycroft just a few minutes ago. Except he knew John Watson hadn’t moved on. John still talked to him. He had spoken to Sherlock’s grave, had prayed to him, not to be dead (not that he knew that’s what he was doing) and Sherlock had heard. It had been a shock to hear it. That voice, the most beloved voice, praying to him. It had been so long since he had had prayers directed at him. Now it still happened on occasion. John would talk to him, well he probably assumed that he was talking to himself, he couldn’t know that Sherlock would hear. But he wouldn’t still do that if he had moved on. 

“Where is he, Mycroft?” he asked sternly

“I can give you his new home address." Mycroft answered, listing off an address. Sherlock turned to go but his brother held a hand out to stop him. “Sherlock, he isn't there at the moment either. He's on a date, with a woman named Mary Morstan.” He warned. Sherlock froze. He didn’t know why that mattered. It shouldn’t have mattered. He had always known that John was straight. Besides he was Lucifer. He was the Prince of Hell. John Watson was a pure soul, a good man. Sherlock had always known that it would be a crime to tarnish John by involving himself with him past friendship. 

“So?” He managed to get out. Mycroft’s face filled with pity. 

“Go home, see Mrs Hudson. Go visit Molly. For the love of our father go visit Gregory. I swear, he knows that you are alive but he’s missed you an absurd amount.” He advised, “Calm down a bit. Get some rest, you look like you haven’t slept in several weeks at least. Then call on John tomorrow morning.” Sherlock glared at him, always hating being told what to do by his brother. Mycroft sighed. 

"Please, Sherlock, as a favor to me." He begged. Sherlock didn't answer, just swept out of the room. Fire trotted after him obediently. The useful thing about his dog, was that people shied away from him when he walked with Fire. They were afraid to get too close, so he didn't get people bothering him all the time. It was excellent. He had intended to go straight to John's new flat. To confront him as soon as he got home, but he couldn't make himself do it. Instead he found his feet taking him back to Baker Street. Home. It had been so long since he had been home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'll mention that all of my mythology is based off Supernatural, Dogma and a few other not good sources... don't bother hoping it's accurate. Sorry!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reunites with Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Just a short chapter before he goes to see John!

Of course Mrs Hudson had screamed. He wasn't precisely sure at first whether she was screaming because of him or Fire... but of course Mrs Hudson never minded dogs. Sherlock was pulled into a hug for the second time that day, his affectionate landlady blubbering into his shoulder. It took him an hour and a cup of tea to calm her down. 

"Oh, Sherlock, how could you do such a horrible thing?" She demanded. "Leaving us like that. You broke John's heart." 

"I did not have a choice, Mrs Hudson." He said, "I am sorry to have hurt any of you." 

"And the poor detective has been moping about, all these unsolved cases he doesn't know what to do with." She was saying, "He even asked John about a few of them, before John asked him to stop."

"Why?" Sherlock asked. 

"Why did detective Lestrade ask? Because John knew you and your methods better than anybody, he did manage to help with a few of them but he asked Lestrade to stop. Brought back too many hard memories he said." Mrs Hudson said sadly, "Oh but you're back! John will be over the moon to see you." She added cheerily. 

"We will see." Sherlock said, thinking that there was at least a thirty percent chance that John would punch him. 

"Are you moving back in then?" She asked hopefully. He nodded. 

"Certainly," he agreed, "That is, if Fire will not be a problem." He added gesturing towards the hellhound. She frowned at Fire for a moment. 

"Since when do you have a dog?" She asked quizzically, "I've never known you to be attached to anything alive that wasn't John." 

"I used to love dogs if you must know. And in recent years I've found myself rather lonely. Fire is good company. He's well trained and very friendly." He added. He waved Fire forwards in silent permission for him to greet Mrs Hudson. The Hellhound bounced forwards cheerfully and leaned his head into her. She looked surprised but pet the dog kindly.

"He's a beautiful dog, Sherlock." She told him. "Aren't you, Fire?" She addressed the dog. 

"Yes. He doesn't shed either, he's very easy to care for but you will not have to do it " Sherlock said. She raised her eyebrows. 

"Oh, you who can barely even feed himself taking care of another living thing, that will be the day." She muttered, "What does your puppy eat? I'll stop by the shops while you're out." 

"Who said I was going out?" He asked. 

"Of course you are, you haven't seen any of the others yet have you? Your detective, or Molly. You haven't seen John yet." She said. He smiled tightly. 

"True. I was going out. But not to see John, he's... busy. I'll go visit him tomorrow. But I should look in on Molly and Lestrade." He agreed. 

"So what does Fire eat?" She asked again. 

"The souls of the damned." He said with a cheeky smile, "But failing that, Lamb. Don't worry, I'll keep him fed." He said. She laughed as he had intended her to. He took Fire up to their flat and made sure he was settled in before heading out to visit Molly. That went well, or at least as well as he could have expected. Molly was well, and she had gotten engaged. He was happy for her.

 

Finally he went to Lestrade. He wasn't sure exactly what to expect when he showed up in the parking garage outside the station. 

"Hey, Raph." He greeted. He had always called Raphael by the nickname. It was why he never called him Greg in this lifetime, it seemed too odd to give him a different first name. His brother just turned to him, and looked him up and down. 

"Luci" he said warmly, smiling. Sherlock couldn't help sucking in a small breath. Lestrade frowned. 

"Sorry was I not supposed to call you that? I know Mycroft said you asked me not to call you by your first name until you said it was okay, but..." he trailed off. 

"No. I don't mind. It's just that I haven't heard that nickname since before the fall." He said. "Towards the end you were the only one who called me that, you and Gabe." 

"I didn't mean to remind you of him." Lestrade said apologetically, "I can't believe.... I'm sorry Sherlock." He added. 

"Not at all. It reminds me of who he was, who he was before everything. Who we were. It reminds me what it felt like." Sherlock said softly.

"You are still loved, Luci, we are still your family. You haven't lost your family, brother. It's Gabriel who has lost something here. Not you. You don't have to remember what it felt like, you should still know what it feels like." Raphael said firmly. Sherlock fell silent. Lestrade waited for a few long moments then sighed. 

"You have no idea what to say to me." He muttered, "Whatever. Well from now on I'm going to call you Luci or Lucifer when there's no one else around." He added.   
"I have no objections." Sherlock said.

"Good, but I wasn't asking permission. You need to remember who you are Luci. You are a good person." Sherlock couldn't help but scoff, "You are a good person. You. Lucifer. I am going to keep pounding that into you until you finally get it." Lestrade said firmly. 

"This conversation is getting entirely too sentimental for my tastes." Sherlock drawled. 

"You and Michael, I swear to god." Lestrade muttered. "Are you both allergic to emotions?"

"Well obviously Mycroft is not as allergic to emotions as he was before." Sherlock said, "He was practically bouncing earlier." 

"I highly doubt that" Raphael chuckled, "But he is his version of happy. Don't judge me. He's gotten better during his time here." 

"Time here does seem so much longer as well, does it not" Sherlock asked. His brother scowled at him. 

"Yes, yes, so I missed my husband, it's allowed." He said irritably. Sherlock ignored him and rattled off a few useful tips to help Lestrade with his cases that he couldn’t solve. He had half expected the detective to be irritated but he accepted the help gratefully. 

“Do you want to come for dinner?” Lestrade asked before he headed out. Sherlock scoffed. 

“With you and Mycroft. Not a chance. Besides, I have to feed my dog.” He answered. 

“Right, your kindly hellhound. What does it eat?” Lestrade asked, looking skeptical. Sherlock sighed. 

“I swear, are all of you goody-two-shoes angels completely ignorant of my realm?” He asked irritably. “Hellhounds usually feed on the souls of the damned. Specifically they go after those who have sold their souls. They’re typically used as attack dogs by higher level demons. However, Fire is entirely unaggressive. The demon who controlled his mother would have killed him at birth, if I hadn’t taken him in. I used to feed him whatever meat I could get my minions to fetch, but he prefers lamb.” He explained. His brother watched him curiously as he spoke. He understood. He had never in this lifetime spoken about his time as ruler of hell so frankly. Somehow it didn’t hurt him as much sitting here talking with Raphael. 

“Well, you should go. I’d prefer it if we didn’t have a hungry hellhound running around London. I don’t even want to think about explaining that one to the Yard.” He muttered. Sherlock laughed and swept away, coat flapping behind him.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes to see John, it doesn't exactly go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to hate on Mary but... oops. Sorry.

Sherlock didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t sleep, not when the knowledge that he would see John the next day filled his mind. Instead he spent his time pacing through the flat, familiarizing himself with it. Home. It was weird to think of it that way, not because it wasn't true but because he hadn't really had a proper home since... he didn't know. Heaven had stopped being his home long before he fell. His home with his parents in this lifetime had never felt like a home, and since he left there he hadn't had a permanent home until Baker Street. It didn’t feel right without John though. 

He wasn’t sure how to approach John tomorrow. He was worried that it would be obvious. How in love with his friend he was. He had been holding it in for so long. However, if there was one thing that Sherlock was good at it, was repressing emotions. Finally he just sat down and meditated, throwing himself into his mind-palace to wait out sunrise, and a few hours after so that he didn’t wake John up. 

Despite his best efforts it was still early when Sherlock was ready to depart the flat. Fire trotted after him eagerly but Sherlock stopped him. He knew he probably shouldn’t bring the dog, but Fire looked so sad. He sighed, cursing his own sentimentality, and waved a hand over his pet veiling him in Shadows. Now invisible, not entirely in the same plane of existence as the human world, Fire bounded by his side cheerfully. 

“You’re a pitiful excuse for a hellhound.” Sherlock told him. It was honestly ridiculous. Sherlock may have been a sort of poor excuse for an evil overlord but he did have some level of a professional reputation to maintain. He should have had a sleek, pure black hound prowling at his side. Instead he had a fluffy black, white, and brown monster who would probably chase butterflies if given the opportunity. Fire ignored his irritation, as dogs were wont to do. 

Sherlock walked to John’s instead of taking a cab. He needed to get to know London again. He needed to know what street he was on based on the paving stones beneath his feet. He needed to make sure his mental map was completely accurate. It would take more than two days of walking the city to be fully comfortable with all of it again, but he had to start somewhere. It seemed to take several lifetimes to reach the door of the unfamiliar flat. He rang the bell uncertainly. This was a horrible idea, some part of him whispered. Coming back like this. What could he be thinking. It was too late now. John was so close. He could sense the glowing soul on the other side of the door. God he had missed the comforting warmth and light of John Watson’s soul. The door swung open. 

John Watson. He was still in his pajamas. His hair was in disarray, and more grey strands glinted from amongst the blonde than there had been before. His eyes looked sadder. But it was John. And he was perfect. Sherlock didn’t know what to say, so he just stood there, fidgeting on the doorstep while John stared at him in shock. 

“Short version: Not Dead.” Sherlock said at last. John was shaking his head. 

“No.” He muttered, “No. You died. You’re dead.” 

“Only kind of, but not really. It’s complicated. But I am most certainly not dead.” Sherlock answered. “Can I come in?” he asked. John was shaking now with what Sherlock assumed and feared was rage. 

“NO!” John snapped. Sherlock pushed his way inside anyway, Fire following him. Sherlock made sure the hellhound was on his best behavior while he was an invisible houseguest in John’s home. 

“Better not to do this out there. Your neighbors will talk.” He said, shutting the door. 

“YOU DIED!” John yelled. 

“I didn’t.” Sherlock answered. “Listen, I know it must not have been easy but-”

“Not Easy?!” John spluttered. And Sherlock had said the wrong thing, because there was the punch. He let it connect, he figured that he probably deserved it. It hurt a lot worse than he expected. If he had been human it might have broken his jaw. John had almost certainly broken something in his hand. He was swearing and clutching it. 

“Let me see that.” Sherlock said, stepping closer. John flinched back. 

“I’m the bloody doctor.” He snapped, but he didn’t do anything about his hand. “Two years Sherlock. I mourned you for two years! WHY?!” 

“I had to destroy Moriarty’s network. It was far more extensive than you could imagine.” He started to explain. 

“I don’t give a shit what you were doing. Why didn’t you tell me you were alive? One phone call Sherlock! Anything! You made me watch you die. Why?!” John yelled. Sherlock grimaced. 

“I didn’t have a choice. You were in danger for as long as that network existed… and I thought…” he started hesitantly. Because he probably could have told John. He probably could have come back to London sooner. 

“You thought what?” John demanded, and his voice had gone quieter but with a dangerous edge. 

“I thought perhaps it would be better for you if you thought I was dead.” Sherlock said, nearly stammering in trying to get the words out. It was true. Contact with Sherlock could surely bring nothing but pain and darkness to John’s life. Sherlock was just too weak to stay away for any longer. 

“HOW COULD YOU THINK THAT?!” the doctor roared. “How could you put that brain of yours to work, and think that it would be better for me if I thought my best friend was dead for two years?” 

“John…” Sherlock failed to find the words. How could he explain that it was because he was darkness. He was the devil himself. “I’m sorry.” He said at last, voice nearly broken. He wasn’t sure what John would have said next because a voice came from the hallway. 

“John, what on earth is going on?” Sherlock whirled to see a woman standing there. He went still. Fire growled, a low sound below a normal human range of hearing. Of course the hellhound recognized this woman. This demon. She had controlled his mother. She had been the demon that had almost killed Fire before Sherlock took him away. 

“You.” Sherlock hissed. 

“You.” She said brightly, tauntingly, erasing any hope he had held that she might be ignorant. He glared at her, trying to stop himself from incinerating her on the spot. 

“Mary, I’m sorry. Do you two know each other?” John asked, looking extraordinarily confused.   
“Oh, we’re old old friends. I’ve known him since I was an innocent little girl.” She said, her voice dripping with danger. 

“You were never innocent.” Sherlock shot back, “Even when you were a little girl.” 

“Aw, that’s no way to treat a loyal subject is it?” She teased. He nearly hissed. 

“What are you doing here?” He demanded. 

“Can’t you figure it out?” She asked. “Isn’t that what you do these days? Detect things? Solve crimes? Help people? Those feathery idiots by your side?” She spat the words like they were disgusting. 

“Never insult my brothers, you useless piece of slime. I created you foul beings and I would be happy to unmake you. Now tell me what you are doing here.” He growled. She cackled.

“Touchy touchy.” She laughed, “Maybe it was a coincidence. That’s for me to know and you to find out.” 

“You will answer me.” He commanded, letting some of his actual power thread into his voice. She choked on whatever taunt she meant to say next. John lurched towards her, looking confused. 

“Mary, what’s going on? Sherlock? What the hell?” he asked. Sherlock was distracted and his control over her broke for a moment. She cackled. He glared.

“Oh come on, what the hell? You have to appreciate the irony just a little.” She said. he scowled at her. 

“What are you doing here? I will not ask politely next time.” he said dangerously. 

“I’m here to take what you want.” She said, eyes raking over John. “You abandoned us, into the hands of that witch so you could come here and play house with an idiot soldier! You will pay for it! If we can’t have you. We’ll make sure that you can’t have him.” She spat, starting towards John. Sherlock whistled. Fire leapt forwards, materializing from the shadows and landing solidly on Mary’s chest, pinning her to the floor. He had grown larger, and looked significantly less playful and happy. Sherlock swept forwards standing over her menacingly.

“You will never touch him again.” Sherlock growled. “Swear it.” 

“I will never touch John Watson.” She hissed. 

“You will dissuade any of the others from interfering in my life ever again.” He commanded. She nodded, glaring at him with all the hatred of hell. 

“Go back to the pit.” Sherlock spat, “Give your queen my regards.” He added. He whistled Fire off of her but kept his own foot pressed into her shoulder for a moment. “And never touch a hellhound again you evil bitch.” He added before stepping off. She vanished in a burst of flame. He rolled his eyes at the extravagance. Then he turned back to John who was standing, frozen in shock, staring between the place where Mary had been, Fire who was returned to his normal happy demeanor, and Sherlock himself. 

“What just happened? What did you do to her?” He asked weakly. Sherlock sighed, running a hand through his curls fretfully. 

“She’s alive, if that’s what concerns you. I simply banished her.” He answered. 

“Banished her where? How?” John asked, sitting down heavily. 

“Back to Hell. She’s a demon. A particularly nasty demon.” Sherlock answered. 

“Demon?!” John asked, semi-hysterically. “You expect me to believe that you believe in angels and demons and magic nonsense?” 

“I don’t believe. I know. She was a demon, John. She just disappeared in a burst of flames. Do use your eyes.” 

“And the dog?” 

“Hellhound.” Sherlock answered, “One with a grudge against her. She abused him and would have killed him when he was a puppy, just because he wasn’t vicious enough for her.” He added, feeling the need to explain, hoping that John wouldn’t ask the questions that he really didn’t want to answer. It was a stupid hope. 

“What did she mean loyal subject?” John asked. Sherlock frowned. “Sherlock. What was she talking about, you leaving? What did she mean?” Sherlock avoided his eyes. “Answer me.” John ordered. 

“I may have technically abandoned my post in hell to come live a human life in an attempt to redeem myself.” Sherlock answered at last. John stared. 

“So… you’re a demon. You have a pet hellhound… and you’re a demon. Who is trying to redeem himself.” he stated flatly. Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from making a face. 

“I am not a demon!” He protested. “Demons are horrible twisted creatures, that feed off despair and pain. I am an angel.” 

“Angel?” John asked, confused, then he shook his head. “No. You’ve got to be bloody kidding me!” 

“I don’t believe I ever told you my full name.” Sherlock said softly. He held out a hand. “Hello John Watson, my name is Lucifer.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally talks to John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if they're getting super out of character. I can't even tell. I'm just going with it. 
> 
> Much longer chapter, I hope you guys like it! It was a lot of fun to write.

“I don’t believe I ever told you my full name.” Sherlock said softly. He held out a hand. “Hello John Watson, my name is Lucifer.” 

"Lucifer?" John laughed hysterically. "Right, okay. So I'm hallucinating?"

"Of course not." Sherlock said briskly.

"Dreaming then." John answered.

"Do you frequently have dreams like this?" Sherlock asked sarcastically. 

"Ones in which you are the devil? No not specifically. Dreams in which you are miraculously alive, only for there to be some crazy awful twist to it? Yeah all the time." John answered. Sherlock grimaced. He didn't know how to answer that. 

"I promise you, you aren't dreaming, John. This is real. I am here." He swore. 

"And you're the devil?" John asked. Sherlock flinched. 

"I'd prefer it if you didn't use that name." He muttered. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, what would you like me to call you? Satan?" John asked, surprisingly cruelly. Sherlock cursed himself for expecting anything different.

"My name is Lucifer." He said quietly, "If you must refer to my former position in the pit you may say 'prince of hell' but you could always just call me Sherlock." He suggested. John nodded calmly, but Sherlock could tell he was still a bit hysterical. 

"And you're what? Possessing a guy named Sherlock Holmes? Since I've known you or only just now? Or is Sherlock really dead and you just came here looking like him to torment me or something?" John asked. 

"No!" Sherlock exclaimed, "John, it's just me, it's always been me. I am Sherlock Holmes. I am. I was born into this body. Ever since I was born I have lived a relatively ordinary human life. It's what my father wanted. He brought me here to give me a chance to redeem myself, and he assigned some of my brothers to watch over me, though it did not work out very well. I may have once been Prince of Hell but hopefully that is a title, a curse I will eventually be free of." 

"Are you sure you're not insane?" John asked, "Delusions of grandeur. You think you're the devil." Sherlock flinched, John sighed exasperatedly, "I'm sorry. Lucifer. Not the devil. Lucifer." He corrected.

"Thank you." Sherlock said with a very small tight smile. "I am what I say John. I am not insane, I know what that feels like and it isn't this. I don't know how to prove it to you."

"Don't you have horns you could show me?" John asked, then shook his head when Sherlock started to protest, "Right. Angel not demon. Do you have wings?" 

"Of course I have wings. I'm an angel." Sherlock answered. 

"Show me." John said.

"No. Don't ask for the one thing I can't give you." Sherlock pleaded. "My hellhound appeared out of thin air and your girlfriend disappeared in a burst of flames, isn't that enough?" He asked hopefully. 

"Wings Sherlock. I want to see them. I want proof or I'm kicking you out of my house." John ordered. His army voice coming out. 

"Please don't." Sherlock begged, hating that he was begging. He never begged.

"Proof or you leave." John snapped. Sherlock closed his eyes, and willed his wings into existence. He felt their comforting weight on his back, and heard the rustle of feathers but he kept his eyes closed. He heard John gasp. 

"Can I please put them away?" Sherlock begged. 

"Holy hell... Sherlock, they're..." John murmured. 

"Hideous? Proof of how low I've fallen? Horrifying?" Sherlock finished for him. 

"What? No! They're beautiful Sherlock. They're incredible." John protested, "Why do you have your eyes shut?" 

"There's a mirror behind you. I don't want to see them. Once upon a time when Lucifer still meant bringer of light, Morningstar, a symbol of hope and new beginnings, my wings were the brightest thing in heaven. They shone pure white almost as if they were made of starlight. Then I fell, and they turned into this." He flared his wings angrily. "Black like the pit that poisoned them, ragged, incapable of flight. I do not want to see evidence of all my mistakes and crimes. 

"Sherlock." John's voice was right next to him now, "Open your eyes." He ordered. "Please." He begged when Sherlock didn't comply. With a heaviness in his chest, but knowing that he would have to face it eventually, Sherlock opened his eyes. He stared... and stared. 

There behind him, rose his wings. They were unmistakably his, the same shape they had always been, rising smoothly above his shoulders and spreading at his sides. Yet they were like nothing he had seen before. No longer were they the ragged dull black they had been in the pit, like those of a dead crow that had been trampled in mud, nor were they the smooth unbroken white they had been so long ago. The bottom fringes were white, but the top of them were black like the odd iridescent black of ravens. It looked as if someone had spilled a bottle of ink over the top of his old wings, staining the tops black that faded into white as it seeped down through the plumage. His feathers were smooth, soft and healthy as they had ever been when he lived in heaven. He reached back to touch them incredulously. 

"See. They're beautiful." John pointed out. Lucifer couldn't bring himself to speak. 

"Sherlock?" John asked, "Are you okay?" He sounded far away. "Oh christ, Lucifer, are you alright?" He demanded. Hearing John say his name made him look up, turn to look at his friend. 

"What? Yes, I'm fine. My apologies, I just... was a bit overcome." He answered. "Thank you John, for making me look. I haven't seen my wings since I came out of the pit, I just assumed... well I assumed they were as destroyed as they once were. I thought I'd never fly again." He explained.

"Looks like you'll be okay in that department. Not that I know much about wings, I'm a doctor not a Vet, but you look pretty healthy to me." John said. Sherlock nodded, arching his neck to look at them. John laughed a little. 

"What?" Sherlock asked, looking back over him. John shrugged and shook his head. 

"Just. You're here. You're actually here, and you've got wings! You are actually, honest to god, Lucifer." He laughed. Sherlock nodded. 

"Yes, I am." He agreed. He was going to say more but John held up a hand to stop him. 

"Just... give me a moment to wrap my head around it." He warned. Sherlock nodded, and fell silent. John sat for a while, thinking, eyes flicking over Sherlock or Fire every now and then. 

"You banished my girlfriend." He said at last. 

"Hardly a real girlfriend, you'd only been on three dates." Sherlock answered automatically, "and anyway she was a demon who just wanted to keep you away from me, and failing that kill you on the off chance that it would send me back into a downward spiral that led straight back to my throne in the pit." 

"Why?" John asked. Sherlock thought for a moment. 

"As I said, some of it was revenge. I guess my former minions are a bit angry that I left and am attempting to get back into my father's good books. They seem to find me 'going light' as something of a betrayal. They want to punish me. And they hope that in destroying my life I will give in and go back to Hell. They know there is no better way to destroy my life than to take you out of it, which incidentally was Moriarty's plan as well."

"Was he a demon as well?" John asked then shook his head, "He can't have been or you would have taken care of him the same way you did her." Sherlock smiled. 

"You are so much smarter than people give you credit for." Sherlock commented, "Moriarty was also an angel. Father sent him to earth in the hopes that he would learn to curb his arrogance, and help me in my attempt to redeem myself. It did not work out quite as he planned. Even father can misjudge things at times, though I likely shouldn't say that. I am grateful to him though. He allowed my brothers free will, and while that led to Gabriel's regrettable actions, they were his actions."

"So Moriarty, was Gabriel. The archangel. He was your brother?" John asked incredulously. 

"Yes, he was." Sherlock agreed. "Moriarty is dead though, Gabriel returned to Heaven, and imprisoned for his actions."

"The archangel Gabriel is evil." John said quietly. Sherlock shook his head. 

"No, don't call him evil. He's not that. Gabe was always a bit unstable, partially my influence there, he was insane, he was spiteful and very angry, but never evil." He said, thinking of the person Gabriel had once been. The one that loved Sherlock and was loved by him. 

"He's your brother... that's so weird. I guess I always thought...." John muttered, trailing off. Sherlock frowned at him. 

"What?" He asked, "Whatever it is you're obviously curious and I won't be offended." 

"It was just that sometimes it almost seemed like you were in love with him. Moriarty I mean." John said all at once. Sherlock thought about this. 

"I was." He said at last. John frowned. 

"You know what I meant. Don't pretend you don't." He scolded. Sherlock met his eyes evenly. 

"You were trying to say that it seemed as if I was romantically involved with Gabriel. I am telling you that I once was." He said calmly. John blinked a few times. 

"I'm sorry, what?" He asked at last. Sherlock sighed. 

"You are making the mistake of believing that Angels are like humans in the way our families work. We are not. First of all, though we frequently refer to other angels as brothers, there are thousands of us and very few actually share a familial type bond. Secondly in our natural state we don't have set genders, brother is just the easiest translation for the enochian word. Third, there is a unique dynamic among archangels that sets us apart from others in our interactions." Sherlock pointed out. John was watching him skeptically. 

"Please, go on. Explain to me how your incestuous relationship with your brother who was also your nemesis was really quite normal and not at all creepy." He invited. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"There are eight archangels." He started.

"Actually there's only seven." John pointed out. Sherlock scowled at him. 

"Yes, thank you for the reminder of my fall from grace." He said sarcastically. John shrugged. 

"Always here to help." He teased. Sherlock glared until he thought John would not interrupt again. 

"There were once eight archangels. Which was I think, another misjudgement on my father's part, as seven is his golden number, but it was a mistake made out of compassion, so he is to be forgiven I suppose." 

"If you're trying to get back in his good books, maybe stop saying that he messed up. Isn't he supposed to be infallible?" John asked. Sherlock shrugged. 

"He knows that I often believe him mistaken. If he had wanted me to give up my free thinking he would never have brought me here. Besides, I would hope he knows I mean no disrespect" he answered, "Anyway, there are eight of us, because we come in pairs. That is why I was created despite me putting us over that holy number seven. Perhaps that was asking for disaster but I cannot say. All the same. I was the youngest of the archangels you see. I think father originally intended for me to be the first of the next class of angels, who were more individual, which is probably why my partner and I had such a rocky relationship, but that is neither here nor there. Four pairs of archangels. That was my family. The other seven, I'll admit, I saw as my brothers very much in a humanlike sense of the word. But it was different with Gabriel, who I hope you realize by now was my counterpart. 

Each pair was different, the bond between them different. For our eldest brothers, Michael and Raphael, it was simple. They love each other, always have always will. They still fight like an old married couple. Raph will get pissed at Michael for being a cold, unfeeling, pompous, dick every now and then, but he always comes around. Uriel and Raguel, that's the next pair, they are like brothers but they are rivals. They're always competing, pushing each other. It works, they complete each other, just not in the same way as Raph and Michael. Ramiel and Sariel, they are best friends. They're damn near inseparable. That's what it means to come in a pair. To be together in whatever way best suits you, is to be complete. That's the way it was supposed to be, easy." Sherlock said, and he knew he sounded bitter. 

"Oh, and I suppose there was trouble in paradise?" John asked sarcastically. 

"It's me. It was Gabe. We just never figured it out. Sometimes we were friends, sometimes we were rivals, and yes sometimes we were lovers, and that is not something out of the ordinary so stop looking at me like it's a crime. I may be a sinner, but that wasn't my sin. You had best learn that because if you look at Michael that way he may just kill you."

"I'm going to work on never meeting your terrifying older brother so we don't have to find out." John said with a smile. Sherlock frowned at him. 

"You thought father would release his disgraced son upon the humans without supervision?" He asked, "He might be giving me a second chance but he doesn't trust me. Gabriel doesn't count as proper supervision. No. He sent Michael and his husband after me." 

"Michael. Mycroft. Mycroft is an archangel too. Okay. I can just about wrap my head around that one. It makes sense. I never want him near me again, but it makes sense." John said mildly. 

"Why don't you want him near you?" Sherlock asked, genuinely confused. 

"I've heard a few too many stories that end something like 'and then they said the wrong thing and pissed Michael off and he smited them all.' To feel entirely comfortable with the man." John answered. Sherlock laughed, a genuine surprised laugh. 

"Yes, well I suppose most of those are true." He agreed. 

"Really? I couldn't be sure, after all I've heard a great deal of stories that say Lucifer is the root of all evil in this world and go on to tell of all the horrible things he's done. They come from similar sources, so I thought the Michael ones might be questionable too." John said. He was looking at Sherlock with that look on his face. The one he used to wear, full of confidence, faith even, in Sherlock. 

"A great many of those stories are true as well, John." Sherlock said softly, "I did horrible things. Awful, unspeakable, indescribable things. Some of which I likely don't deserve to be forgiven for." 

"I'm not sure I believe that. As you say that while looking like someone stabbed your puppy. God is forgiving you..." John said. Sherlock shook his head, and his wings flared. He had forgotten how telling they were. Moving one's wings was always more involuntary than anything, they were a tell. 

"He hasn't done that yet. If I died right now I would end up straight back in the pit. John, I am Lucifer. I may not claim to be the root of all evil, but I did rebel against heaven. There was a war. My compatriots were cursed alongside me. I betrayed my family. I betrayed Gabriel, the one person who was supposed to be the other half of me. And after that I did a great many horrible things. You would hate me if you knew exactly what. John, plagues, and wars, and torture, and horrors unimaginable." 

"You aren't telling the whole story though.” John protested, “You say that but that isn’t all of it. There is more to your story. If you were as horrible as all that makes you sound you wouldn’t flinch when people call you the devil, you wouldn’t give a damn if a demon hurts a hellhound, you wouldn't be on earth trying. You certainly wouldn't care about me. I mean in perspective you've lived for thousands of years, hundreds of thousands of years. I'll live to a hundred if I'm lucky. If you really were a sociopathic, evil overlord humans would all be like insects to you, but we aren't. You care about people, some people anyway. And you feel guilty, if there is anyone who does not forgive you it is you. So tell me the full story before you decide that I would be better off without you again." John ordered. Sherlock marveled at this man, who was willing to hear him out. To consider forgiving the devil. 

"I was a child." He started, "That's the easiest place to start. I was young, and impetuous and angry. I was resentful of my imperious father and older brothers. I hated that I was supposed to be one half of a whole when Gabriel and I never seemed to fit together correctly. I wanted to be my own person, to decide what I could do, what I could think and feel. I grew bitter, angry. I rebelled. Looking back it was like a child throwing a tantrum, a teenage rebellion. Not that I don't still believe I had the right to be my own person because I do. I am still a free thinker. But I went about it all wrong. I started a war. I was cast out. You have to understand, I wanted to be independent, to be alone, but I didn't know what that meant. In heaven, everyone is sort of interconnected. When I fell I lost that connection. Losing that, and losing Gabriel especially I'll admit, made me go a bit mad. I lost my mind. I was already an unstable bastard, losing all of it at once sent me over the edge. I don't honestly remember all of the early years. Just flashes through this haze of rage. But bad things happened, and just because I regret them now, doesn’t mean that I didn't do them.”

“Questionable logic, I’m not saying your temper tantrum was a good plan, but temporary insanity is a legal defense, and it was a long time ago.” John pointed out. 

“My temper tantrum lasted several centuries.” Sherlock answered. John grimaced. 

“Yes. Well…” he shook his head, “I’m sorry, I just have a lot of trouble conceptualizing that.” he said at last. Sherlock chuckled. 

“It’s difficult to imagine, even for me sometimes.” he agreed, “All the same, after I came to my senses I didn’t do much. It was an uninteresting time, I won’t go into it. A few centuries ago I rescued Fire from the demon that owned his mother. She was going to kill him. She never does kill slowly though, so technically, someone did stab my puppy.” he added mildly. “That was Mary by the way. Bit personal her turning up here. I should have smited her for it but alas, I needed a messenger.” 

“Hmm… definitely not a good candidate for a girlfriend then.” John said, “I mean the demon thing I could overlook, but animal abuse is just crossing a line.” He added with a grin. Sherlock grinned back. They were okay. He was Lucifer. John knew it, and he wasn’t running away. He was doing the opposite of running away. He was sitting there grinning at Sherlock, like he was someone worth caring about. 

“Naturally.” Sherlock agreed. “Anyway to conclude my story, within recent times I started… not exactly trying to make up for things… but I tried to reign in my more vicious minions. I fought to make sure that only the wicked who belonged in Hell ended up there, so on. It was, I thought, the least I could do. Father took notice. He decided to give me a second chance. So he sent me here. I was born into a human life, Sherlock Holmes. I didn't remember who I really was until I was a teenager. At which point I went through some... difficulties. Then, with some assistance from my brothers I managed to turn my life into something resembling almost normal. You and I became friends, and somehow I found myself with a home again. However, Gabriel wanted me to kill myself so I would go straight back to hell because he hates me and is more than a little insane. So he hired people to kill you, Molly, and Mrs Hudson if I didn’t jump off that roof. So I did.” 

“But you what? Flew? Came back to life? Survived and healed?” John asked. 

“I’m not entirely sure. I woke up in Mycroft’s house. Father visited me… he spoke to me.” Sherlock said, as if he himself couldn’t really believe it. 

“God came to see you? Wow, that’s pretty incredible, from what I hear he’s more or less the world’s most absent father.” John commented. Sherlock chuckled again. 

“Yes well, he’s very busy running the universe and everything.” He answered, “It was good to see him again, truly. Though he reminded me that making Sherlock Holmes a decent person, while I continued to reject parts of myself would never help. Irritating how right he is all the time. After that I spent the next two years dismantling Moriarty’s network to make sure everyone was safe from his influences. I finally called Fire back to my side. Now… here we are. With demons trying to manipulate me into coming back down to save them from their new mistress.” he added with a smirk. 

“Why do I get the feeling that that is a joke I’m supposed to get?” John asked. 

“Irene makes an excellent Queen of hell. Much better than I ever could have been.” Sherlock told him. John laughed. 

"Of bloody course she does." He agreed. He stood up. "Want a cup of tea?" He asked, padding into his tiny kitchen. 

"Please." Sherlock agreed. He folded his wings back into the state of non-existence they were normally in. 

"Still British then?" John asked, "I mean, you aren't originally from here... but you are. God this is confusing."

"I am the same person I have always been John. You were just unaware of my history." Sherlock pointed out. John rolled his eyes, Sherlock didn't need to see it to know it. 

"Is it hard speaking English? I mean, are you translating in your head all the time? What is it that Angels speak again?" John asked as he went about making tea. 

"No, it comes naturally, though I can switch over to Enochian easily. That's our language." Sherlock answered. "It is beautiful, I miss the sound of it sometimes." He added in Enochian. When John frowned at him he translated it back to English for him. 

"I imagine you probably miss a great many things about your life before. Heaven, wings, your brothers." John said. 

"Are you trying to ask me if I miss Gabriel?" Sherlock asked. John looked down. Sherlock sighed. "I don't honestly know... we used to be... more. I miss Gabe, I do, with every breath, but Gabriel became someone else." 

"You call him Gabe. Since when do you use nicknames? It's very unlike you." John commented. 

"You heard my brothers' names. They're ridiculous, and worse in Enochian. We fell into the habit of shortening names very early on. Gabe, Raph, Rami and Sari, Rag. Uriel never got shortened, he's always been a bit too aggressive for affectionate nicknames." 

"And was Michael ever Mike?" John asked, making a face. Sherlock shook his head. 

"No. Michael has always used his full name and all of us were too scared of him to try to shorten it." He answered. 

"What did they call you?" John asked curiously, "I mean, what should I call you?"

"My name in this lifetime is still Sherlock. I am... fond of my name. In fact for the majority of my life I have refused to let my brothers call me Lucifer, because of the stigma surrounding it. But I am... getting used to it. My brothers used to call me Luci." He added, "That was long before it was a common human name." John couldn't help it, he laughed. Sherlock glared. 

"I'm sorry. It's actually very sweet but..." he snickered again. 

"It's fine. No one has called me that since before the fall. Well, except Raph. He insists upon it, bastard." Sherlock said. John nodded. 

"So, Sherlock and or Lucifer?" He asked, still sounding a bit overwhelmed. 

"Yes." Sherlock agreed, "Does that mean you will still be speaking to me then?" He asked. 

"What?" John frowned at him.

"That is to say, I would understand if you chose to remove me from your life. Many people would in your scenario." Sherlock said, forcing the words out. Putting voice to his worst fear. John stared at him, in disbelief. 

“Are you kidding?” He asked. Sherlock stayed silent. John shook his head. “God, Sherlock. You really don’t understand people do you. That makes a lot more sense now, by the way. You’re my best friend. You’ve saved my life more times than I want to think about. And two years ago you literally committed suicide to save my life. I don’t know what kind of shit person you think I am, but in my books you don’t throw away a friend like that because he did some shit things a really long time ago when he wasn’t in his right mind.” He said. 

“I didn’t actually die.” Sherlock pointed out, “I didn’t commit suicide. I lived.” 

“Did you jump off that roof, thinking that you were going to die and get straight back to hell, therefore losing possibly your singular chance at redemption?” John asked. 

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed. John nodded. 

“Right.” He said as if that answered everything. “That’s not to say I’m not still freaked out. I’m very bloody freaked out. And I’m damn pissed at you for not coming back or even contacting me for two bloody years! But we are still friends Sherlock. You are still my best friend.” He declared. Sherlock smiled. 

"John Watson, you are the single most incredible human being I have ever known.” He said, marveling. 

“I doubt it but thanks.” John laughed. Sherlock knew John wouldn’t take him seriously, but it was true. 

“So… two years… what have I missed?” Sherlock asked mildly. John just shook his head in disbelief. Then he sat down across from Sherlock and told him about the latest new of London as they both drank their tea. It felt like it could have been any other day from the days that they had been living at Baker Street. Except that John knew, and Fire was curled up between the two of them. The hellhound took to John automatically. John seemed unsure of how to react to him at first, but as they talked he relaxed and reached down to pet Fire absently. 

Sherlock was glad that his only two friends in the world were getting along. They talked for a long time. Finally Sherlock stood, it was time for him to go. 

“You can always come home, if you’d like.” He offered before he left. John nodded hesitantly. 

“I’ll think about it… I just need some time to process okay?” He asked. Sherlock nodded. 

“Of course.” he agreed, whistling Fire to his side. He swept out of John's flat and back into the streets of London. He wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen now, but he knew that John Watson was willing to give him a chance. He would figure everything else out from there. It was kind of thrilling, not knowing what to expect.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts trying to work things out, and has a talk with Lestrade

It took a while for them to settle into a routine. Sherlock seemed to want to go back to normal, the way things were anyway, but John was having none of it. He insisted that that they slowly adjust to their friendship. He was also hesitant to start working cases again, but that lasted... well all of three days. There was a case and when Sherlock called, John couldn't help himself. He went. He found Sherlock waiting for him outside the police tape. 

"You waited?" He asked in surprise. Then looked down, "You brought Fire?" 

"Being considerate, thought I'd try it out. Anyway, I'm used to us showing up together. Your reactions to things are... useful." Sherlock answered. "And I intend to leave Fire outside the actual scene, only because Lestrade will throw a fit and I don't have time for that."

"You brought him to piss off Donovan" John said. Sherlock shrugged with a devious smile.  
"I only know that because when I first met you I was the dog." John said, rolling his eye.

"Sometimes you were the skull." Sherlock answered brightly. They both knew that John had always been more than the dog. Neither of them had to say it. 

"Finally." Lestrade said coming up to the two of them. He looked down, "Honestly, Luci? Did you have to bring the dog?" He asked. 

"Fire gets lonely." Sherlock answered blithely. 

"No, you brought your hellhound to piss off my team."

"Maybe." Sherlock admitted. "You must let me have some fun, Raph." He added with a smile. 

"Raph. Raphael. Thanks for telling me that one Sherlock. Next time, warn me if anyone I know happens to be an archangel." John said tersely. 

"Duly noted." Sherlock agreed. 

"Also, how did he know that I know about you?" John asked. 

"Mycroft knew." Sherlock said. 

"Which means Greg knew, because they are married..." he said turning towards Greg, looking disbelieving. 

"That's not widespread knowledge yet, so please don’t spread it about.” Lestrade said awkwardly. 

“Nonsense, it’s obvious. You two are sickening.” Sherlock said before walking away. 

“What? We aren’t- we hardly even talk to each other outside of home!” He exclaimed. 

“Moved in with him then?” John asked, “God, living with Mycroft. Can’t imagine that, don’t want to.” He said shaking his head. 

“He’s my husband. I actually enjoy his company.” Lestrade protested. “And you live with Sherlock, so you don’t get to insult my choice of life-partners.” He added. 

“I don’t actually live with Sherlock anymore.” John pointed out. 

“Well, we all know that’s temporary don’t we?” Lestrade said conspiratorially. John looked over at Sherlock who was leaving Fire with a scowling Donovan. Then he was off, whirling through the crime scene. 

“Bloody hell, you’re probably right.” He grumbled. “Tell me, is this whole thing, I mean the deductions thing. Is that an archangel thing? Like superpowers or whatever the hell else you guys can do?” Lestrade laughed. 

“Trust me, if we could all do that I would have a much higher salary than I do.” He said, “No, that’s all Sherlock. He’s bloody brilliant. Always has been. It’s got nothing to do with him being an angel. Mycroft does it as well of course. They’ve always been more similar than they are willing to admit. I think that’s why they’ve never really got on you know?” He asked. 

"Yeah. Maybe that's why he and Gabriel were such a bloody disaster." John added. Lestrade looked at him in surprise. 

"He talked to you about Gabe?" He asked. John nodded. 

"Yeah, when he was explaining all of this. Why? Is that odd?" 

"He doesn't like to talk about Gabriel." Lestrade said, "He's more sensitive about Gabe than his name. He acts like he hated him but..."

"He loved him. Loves, I'd say, though he doesn't want to say it. He told me that he misses Gabe with every breath he takes, but that Gabriel wasn’t the same person anymore. I think he hates himself for missing Gabriel after everything that’s happened.” John said.

“Of course he misses him.” Lestrade said bleakly, “We were designed that way. It’s not among Father's greatest successes." 

"Isn’t that cruel. To bind two people together that way without them getting a say in it?” John asked. Lestrade nodded. 

“Yes, it is rather. But we never had a choice you know. We weren’t gifted free will in the way you humans were, not at the start. We didn’t get to make choices, so it wasn’t unusual that we didn’t get a say.” He pointed out, “It’s one of the many beautiful things about playing human, the assumed free will, the choice in what to believe. I don’t know if Mycroft appreciates it sometimes, Sherlock used to be the same way but he’s gotten better for meeting you.” He added with a smile. 

“He really is Lucifer though…” John said shaking his head, looking at Sherlock. “I mean, I know he is but all the things you hear. All the stories, and he’s told me a lot of them are true. It’s so hard to actually believe it. You too, I mean. Bloody hell, Greg. How am I supposed to deal with all of this?” 

“The same way we deal with anything. Time, tea and a lot of alcohol.” Lestrade answered chuckling. “And please, try to be kind to Luci. He’s… well, rejection wouldn’t be good for him right now.” 

“I won’t do that.” John assured him. “Do you think I should call him, Lucifer? Would it help him?”

“I call him Luci because that’s his name to me, and I want him to remember that I know who he is and I love him anyway. I’m not sure what would be best coming from you, it will probably startle him if you say it, so just call him what you want. If you slip his original name in there here and there it can’t be bad for him.” The detective answered. 

“And you, would you prefer to be called Raphael, Raph, or Greg?” John asked, feeling awkward. 

“Any of them work.” Lestrade answered, “Seriously, it’s no big deal. I’ve been Greg for forty some years now. I was born Greg in this life, didn’t remember I was Raphael until the middle of Uni. That was pretty odd.” He laughed. 

“Really? Sherlock said he was sixteen when it happened to him.” 

“Yup, Mycroft was fourteen, they were never very good at being humans. I always blended in a lot better. I was a healer before, you know? I probably should have been a doctor, I would have been better at it. But I couldn’t stand to be surrounded by people who were hurt and treat them in the small ways humans do when I could just heal them all my way.” He said with a sigh. 

“That’s has to be hard. All of it, knowing everything you know but having to be human instead.” John muttered. 

“I see all of the wounded, the injured who I might have been able to save. Sherlock sees all the sinners, all the sins. But now we are human, so we have to see and let it pass over us. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it, to be human.” Lestrade answered. John nodded, not looking at the detective. He was watching his… watching Sherlock. 

“John!” Sherlock called, looking up from where he was crouched over a body. “Get over here, I need you!” 

“Coming.” John said with a sigh, and a smile. Lestrade waved at him to go. So John did what he always did, and he followed Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have prewritten out. So we'll see where it goes from here. If anyone thinks they know, tell me because I don't...


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prayers and the various people who give them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I know prayers are probably only supposed to go to God and not Angels but I am not religious so I am just making up whatever as I go along, roll with it.

"This is ridiculous." Sherlock said as John climbed into his Taxi. "Driving across the city every time I need you. It's absurd." 

"Is this your latest, John should move back in spiel?" John asked as he settled down in the seat next to Sherlock. "Can I stop it before it starts?"

"John, we had a good system. I just think you should consider the possibility that-" Sherlock started.

"My lease is up next month." John interrupted. "I was going to tell you but I wanted to hear you beg for a while longer." 

"Payback for two years of you begging me not to be dead?" Sherlock asked. John nodded, then scowled. 

"I didn't beg for two years. I'd moved on." He protested. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"I suppose now is when I ought to tell you that your pleading with me counted as prayer and that I can hear those." He said tiredly. John hit him. 

"Been listening in on my private bloody thoughts have you?!" He demanded.

"No." Sherlock answered, "Only the ones you project at me. Besides I don't choose to listen. I just hear prayers directed at me. Michael, Raph, they tune it out, so many voices, so they never hear anything specific-"

"But no one prays to you." John finished for him softly, "So a single voice is clear as day. The only man in the world praying to the angel Lucifer." 

"Something like that. Well, you and the nutters but they're different." Sherlock said, effectively killing the moment. John rolled his eyes.

"Naturally." He agreed. There were a few moments of comfortable silence before he thought to ask. "Does it bother you? If it does, I can stop." 

"No." Sherlock said, nearly too fast. "No, it's no bother." John looked at him suspiciously but he didn't push the issue. 

The case that day went well, everything seemed normal. It was... nice. Sherlock buried that statement. He didn't say things like "that was nice." It was beneath him. He thought that the praying matter had been forgotten entirely. It wasn't until later that night when he heard John's voice that he remembered they had had the conversation at all. 

'Lucifer, I... I'm not the praying type and I'm not sure how this works. But I just thought you deserved to have someone who still saw you as the angel of dawn. New beginnings, I'd like to hope we both found that... and I'm not going to say anything else because you'll take the mickey as it is. Goodnight.'

Sherlock sat in his chair for a long time, shocked, just staring at John's empty chair across from him. He didn't know how long he sat there, John's words repeating in his head before Fire nudged his hand to remind him that he had not been fed. He made sure the hellhound was taken care of before finally just sitting down on the floor and going to his mind palace. He stored the memory of the prayer in the museum like room he kept for them, before retreating to his throne room. It was a familiar room with smooth onyx walls. The whole room was made up with shades of black and dark blue, which remained Sherlock's favorite colors. At first Sherlock had thought it was a twisted sort of masochism, that had made him model his mind palace as a replica of the palace in hell. Now sitting there peacefully, content, he realized that he simply liked the room. It was a good throne room, it suited him, cold and stark, but beautiful and functional as well. For the first time he thought back upon hell and his position there fondly. He liked his palace, there was that at least. 

Sherlock didn’t say anything when he saw John the next day, and John didn’t say anything either. However, that night John’s voice came again, he didn’t say anything huge or important. He just repeated that he believed in Sherlock. Sometimes he just talked about cases, sometimes he just murmured goodnight. John prayed to Sherlock every night. Every night for a month. Sherlock never mentioned it. He didn't really know how to begin to thank John, how to talk to him about it. So he stayed silent. 

Then one day, after John had finished his nightly prayer Sherlock remained where he sat, as he usually did, but he didn't go to his mind palace. Instead he stopped to consider his life. He felt... blessed. The thought made him laugh but it wasn't necessarily false. 

"I feel blessed." He murmured to his father. "I haven't felt that way since I was a child. Thank you... I'm not sure for what but thank you. For John I suppose. I'm not sure if you will ever forgive me for all that I've done. I'm not sure I deserve it. But John Watson. That man... whatever happens I hope you'll protect him. He's done more for me than anything or anyone else. Thank you for John.” the door of the flat opened. Mrs Hudson stopped in the entrance to the room. Sherlock looked up at her from where he had at some point moved to kneeling on the floor. It was funny how old habits died hard. 

“What are you up to?” She asked, looking surprised. 

“I was praying.” He answered honestly, surprising himself. 

“Oh, I didn’t think you were religious. Never seemed the type to go in for the blind faith you know? You never prayed before did you?” She said with a smile. He thought about it for a moment. 

“I’ve always known that there was a god. However, before now I was just also certain that he wasn’t listening.” He said honestly. She clucked at him. 

“Now, that’s no way to think about things. He’s always listening, at least that’s what my friends who go in for that sort of thing say. I can’t say I’m much for religion myself, so many rituals and all that stuff you’ve got to remember. I was christian once but I just couldn’t keep up with it all. What sort of religious are you then?” She asked. He thought about this for a moment. 

“Christian of some sort you could say.” He answered at last, it wasn’t exactly true but it was as close as he could get. “Non-denominational. Anyway, I know that god is listening now. He never did abandon me, it would seem.” He told his land lady thinking quietly to himself and anyone who cared to listen.

‘Bless Mrs Hudson.’ And meaning it entirely literally. He hoped that his father would at least attempt to be kind to her, she deserved it after all she had done for Sherlock. As soon as he had that thought he realized how absurdly sentimental it was and moved on to more practical things, leaping to his feet and heading for the kitchen and his experiments. Mrs Hudson seemed much more comfortable with this and returned to her cleaning, or whatever it was that she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I will try to update every few days to a week if I can. I know where I'm going with this story now, I have an ending in mind, I just have to get there, stick with me.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John moves back in, and they have a brief discussion of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this is really short, and mostly just filler I'm sorry. Also I'm sorry it took me so long to get it posted. I was on spring break when I first started posting this story but have since returned to school, so I've been a bit busy. I haven't abandoned it though and I know how I want it to end now so there is hope.

When John finally turned up with a box in his hands Sherlock was surprised to see his brother with him. 

“Raph, what are you doing here?” He asked. 

“Helping me move, since I knew you wouldn’t.” John answered for him. Sherlock paused then shrugged and nodded, it was true enough. He wouldn’t be caught dead carrying boxes, even if it was to help John move home. 

“You could always help now Luci.” Lestrade suggested. Sherlock scowled at him. 

“You could always just summon all of it up here instead of hurting your back.” He suggested. 

“I can’t actually, we were ordered to blend in.” Raphael answered, “That means no displays of angelic power.” 

“So?” Sherlock asked rolling his eyes. His brother sighed, looking sad. “What?” Sherlock demanded. 

“I just forget sometimes, how different you are. The way that you actually are different from us. We’re archangels, Lucifer, disobeying a direct order, even if it’s not a big deal even if it wouldn’t be noticed by the humans, is unthinkable.” 

“But not to me.” Sherlock said, sighing as well, “Right. That’s why I fell. I didn’t… disobedience seems to be ingrained into me.” He muttered. 

“No, things can always change. You can get past this. There is still hope, there’s always hope.” The detective told him gently. Sherlock glared at him. 

“Stop being so sickeningly kind.” He muttered. Lestrade chuckled. 

“You know, you didn’t make a bad lord of Hell.” He said, looking thoughtful. Sherlock’s eyes went completely icy and his brother actually flinched. 

“Don’t talk to me about Hell.” Lucifer growled. His brother just scuttled off with a box. John was looking at him with these soft affectionate eyes and Sherlock couldn’t understand how he managed it. John and Raphael just moved the rest of John’s stuff into his room again, not disturbing Sherlock where he sat. Raphael left with a lifted hand and a smile.

 

“I found this in my stuff.” John said when he next came down from his room, tossing a book at Sherlock. “How accurate is it?”

“Oh very funny.” Sherlock muttered, as he looked down at Dante’s Inferno in his lap. John chuckled. 

“Come on. You’ve got to talk to me about this stuff. I just moved in with Lucifer. I have ground rules and they involve communication.” John told him. Sherlock sighed. He tossed the book away. 

“Dante was an idiot.” He muttered. John grinned. 

“Obviously you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. Clearly you don’t want to talk to your brothers about it. I get that, they’re angels, it’s different. But if you wanted to talk about hell with a lowly little human over here. I’m happy to listen.” He invited after a few moments of silence. Sherlock thought. John waited for a little bit, then got up to make tea. He was sitting across from Sherlock with his tea and a book when Sherlock finally spoke. 

“It’s cold.” He said. John looked up in surprise.

“What?” He asked, “You set the thermostat, you’re capable of changing it.” He added. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“No, not here. Hell. It’s cold. People think Hellfire when they think of hell, and some of the pits do use fire, but the pit itself; it’s cold. So vast and cold and empty. People assume it’s crowded too. They think of it as this roiling mass of demons and tormented souls, but it’s not. There’s so much dark empty space, stretching out to eternity. You could be down there forever and never encounter another soul, only come across the demons who torment you. That’s a torture in itself, the loneliness, the realization that no one can hear you scream, that no one will ever care enough to come for you.” He described.

“Wow. That’s awful.” John murmured, looking a little dazed. Sherlock nodded mildly. 

“Thank you. It was… a personal touch. The emptiness that is. It was always cold.” He added. 

“You hate the cold.” John commented. “You and that damn coat and scarf in the middle of summer.” 

“I hated reminders of Hell.” Sherlock agreed. “So yes, I have disliked the cold in my time here, though the temperature itself doesn’t bother me.” 

“You used past tense.” John remarked. Sherlock shot him a glare but John had always been rather impervious to them. 

“So I did.” He agreed at last. 

“Why?” John asked. Sherlock frowned, thinking. If it had been anyone else he wouldn’t have even considered answering. 

“I suppose there are parts of Hell I remember fondly.” He answered at last, surprised by his own honest answer, “My palace. My throne room. I liked them.” John chuckled a little.

“Of course you had a palace.” He laughed. Sherlock grinned at him.

“Course I did.” He agreed.

“What was it like?” John asked, honest curiosity in his eyes. It didn’t seem like such an awful thing to tell John, all of a sudden. So he thought for another second and then he started to tell him.

“It was peaceful…” He started.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of Heaven, Hell, and Humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIVEEE!!!! YOU PROBABLY ALL THOUGHT THIS WAS DEAD! (If anyone is actually still with me... guys?) I'm sorry it took so long for me to update this. I'm an asshole and a failure. Then again, this is the Sherlock fandom, I figure you people are probably used to shit like that.

After that John made a habit of finding things related to the Devil and asking for an accuracy rating. He would clip out comic strips with Satan, portrayed as a red man with horns and a tail, out of the papers and stick them on the fridge with a post-it waiting for a rating. He would find representations of Hell and the Devil in literature, and on TV and ask Sherlock about them. Once when Mycroft had been around he had read a paragraph aloud from the book he was reading, in which the Devil was described as pure evil and temptation trapped within the body of a goat. 

“Rating?” He asked with a grin. Sherlock frowned. 

“Hmm, I’ll give it a four of ten. The body of a goat bit is patently false, the pure evil thing is debatable, but temptation… well I suppose that’s for you to judge.” He answered at last with a smirk. John spluttered and laughed. Mycroft looked shocked.

“You have him give his depictions in media accuracy ratings?” He asked once he had found his voice. John and Sherlock both looked up at him, shrugged, and nodded. 

“It’s a way to pass the time.” John agreed. Mycroft left rather huffily. 

“Don’t mind my brother. I think he’s just offended because I’ve never spoken to him about Hell. I believe he’s insulted that I haven’t told him anything about it.” Sherlock told him. 

“For an archangel he can be quite petty.” John muttered. Sherlock laughed. 

“You clearly haven’t spent enough time around archangels, they’re all petty.” he answered. 

“You as well? Lucifer?” John asked. Sherlock was mildly surprised to hear his proper name from John but he didn’t let it show.

“You know me.” He answered with a smirk. 

“So you’re the pettiest of all of them.” John filled in. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

“I am not petty.” He shot back. “I am the prince of Hell. Lord of the realm beneath this one-” 

“You declaring your titles like that isn’t helping your case.” John laughed at him. Sherlock couldn’t keep his face straight in the light of John’s laugh so he let himself laugh as well. It was easy. So shockingly easy to laugh with John even though they were laughing about the fact that Sherlock was the Devil. It was something that he would never understand about John, how he made everything so much easier to live with. He made it easy to talk about being the devil, about Hell. They did talk about it. John would ask him about Hell and Lucifer told him about it without the pain he always expected, the pain that had always been there before. John somehow made it easy for him to be himself, to be Lucifer talking about Hell, and he never made him feel like he ought to be guilty about it. 

Sherlock prayed every day. He knew John saw it, knew that John was curious but he didn’t ask. Not about that. He knew that Sherlock’s prayers were a private matter between him and his father and John never bothered him about it. He bothered him about endless other things. He was always after him to go to sleep and to eat food. It was just as endearingly infuriating as it had always been before. Somehow reminding John that he was in fact an archangel, capable of flight and eternal life and smiting things, never seemed to help. 

“You’re in a mortal body, and you have to take care of it.” John answered, unmoved. “I swear, you take better care of your dog than you do of yourself.” He added irritably. 

“That’s because Fire deserves it.” Sherlock whispered. He hadn’t thought that John heard until the soldier punched him in the face. 

“Don’t you dare.” He said sternly, before marching away, too upset to do anything else. In the grand scheme of things Sherlock didn’t think physical violence was a text-book approved way of getting people to take care of themselves. Nor a good reaction to self-loathing, and yet... It worked better than he’d like to admit. He knew it upset John when he didn’t take care of himself, and if there was one thing Sherlock didn’t want to do it was upset John. He was still the tiniest bit afraid that he might run away at any point in time and never come back.

“What was heaven like?” John asked Sherlock the next day. He hadn’t asked about heaven before. Sherlock frowned as he thought about it. 

“It was so long ago.” He mused. “I was so young, so very naive… Heaven was, white. I remember that clearly. Sometimes when I flew, my wings almost looked invisible, blending into into the background of white. Everything there is so bright. It was very crowded to be there as an angel. There is a sort of connection between all of the angels. It is very difficult to describe to the mind of a human.” 

“You know, your obnoxious, arrogant, disdainful way of talking about humans makes more sense these days. It makes me feel fractionally better about… everything.” John told him with a fond smile. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Everything?” He asked. 

“You know what I mean.” John huffed, blushing. “Everyone always judged me for being friends with a dick.” 

“And it makes you feel better to know that I’m actually just Lucifer?” Sherlock asked. John scowled at him. 

“Yes actually.” He muttered. Sherlock laughed. 

“Only you John.” He smiled. John shrugged. 

“I don’t know. I guess I get it. It always seemed pretty uncool to me that your dad threw you out just because you were bitter about him just replacing you guys with a bunch of imperfect assholes. Maybe I just don’t feel all that kindly about humanity.” He answered. Sherlock shook his head. 

“No, it was more complicated than that. I did commit a crime. I committed a great many crimes. I won’t excuse them, not the ones I committed against heaven or Earth. The actions I took, I don’t know if they were right or wrong honestly, it’s all become so complex and strange. I don’t know if any of us know what was truly right, I don’t know if there was a true right and wrong. One way or another, I regret betraying my brothers… I have a great many regrets.” He said. 

“It’s odd to hear you admit to being wrong.” John murmured. 

“Because I am not often wrong.” Sherlock asserted. John smiled, letting silence fall over them comfortably for a while. When he spoke again it was not the question that Sherlock had expected. 

“What was it like though? Not the betrayal, the fighting, the fall, whatever, screw all that. What was it like to see humans from the very beginning?”

“It was beautiful, in the most heartbreaking way possible.” Sherlock answered simply.

Lucifer remembered it so clearly. The humans so small and new, but so full of hope. Yet they had turned to evil and sin so quickly. It was so frustrating. They had so much potential. There was so much kindness and beauty there, but so much hate and horror as well. He hadn’t been able to bear seeing how his father loved them. These days he could remember what his betrayal was really about. It had always been said that he refused to love humanity, that he hated and resented them. Now, with John sitting in front of him, so beautiful and full of good, he couldn’t remember hating humanity. It seemed impossible for him to imagine humans as a whole general group that could be universally hated. Now when he thought of humans he thought of John, of Molly and her never-ending kindness, of Mrs Hudson, these humans, these fantastic impossible humans. He remembered Raphael talking to him about how miraculous they were, and never understanding him. Now he understood. Humans were flawed, but they were so… miraculous. It was something he thought Gabriel had always failed to understand. 

“Luci? You okay?” John asked. Sherlock looked up at him again and nodded. 

“Yes. I was just thinking. I do not hate humanity, John, I can’t remember how to hate them. For so long that was what people thought of when they thought of me, it seems strange that it is untrue.” He commented like it was an interesting science experiment. 

“That’s a good thing. You aren’t what people think you are, Lucifer. That’s okay. Fuck what everyone else thinks, including your older brothers and god himself. You should be allowed to be yourself, and think what you think without everyone’s expectations pressing you down into the shape they want or expect.” John declared. Sherlock smiled at him, his chest felt nearly uncomfortably full of love for this impossible man. He had no idea how he would ever be able to express it. 

“Thank you, John.” He said instead. John nodded. 

“Don’t think I’m going to Hell for that fuck what god thinks comment do you?” John asked after a moment. Sherlock chuckled. 

“I think we can arrange for that not to happen.” He promised privately thinking he would happily rebel against his father again for John’s sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no promises about updating quickly but I will finish this, it's not abandoned, I promise


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a Moment, and Sherlock remembers that he used to do an important job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably all thought this was dead, well if anyone was still reading or cared... But I promised I would finish it and finish it I have. I'm not super proud of this fic as whole, it's not my best work, but it's done so whatever. I'll post a chapter a day for the next few days.

Sherlock had started flying every morning after discovering that his wings were intact. He found it amusing how astonished John was to find him coming back into the flat in the early morning. 

"Did you go to sleep?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. "And you are awake? I didn't know you were capable of that." 

"John, I am Lucifer, I was the Morning-star. I am by nature a morning person." Sherlock pointed out, letting his wings flair behind him a little. John was staring at him openly. Sherlock realized he had no shirt on. It was easier to let his wings out that way. He raised his eyebrows, then cleared his throat when that didn't work. 

"John Watson were you just ogling the lord of the damned?" He asked with an arrogant smirk. 

"Yeah..." John murmured, his voice a little hoarse. "Can you blame me? I mean... look at you." Sherlock felt his cheeks go read against his will. He couldn’t maintain a cool facade in the face of that voice, the look in John’s eyes.

“I thought you were straight.” Sherlock managed to say without his voice breaking, barely. John cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away pointedly. 

"Well, yes, I am, or I thought I was, but um... well..." he was floundering. Finally he just gestured at Sherlock. "No one is that straight!" He exclaimed at last. Sherlock couldn’t help his laugh. 

“Oh, John, my dearest John.” He murmured affectionately taking a step forwards. He wanted so badly to lean down and capture those lips in his, and based on the way John was staring at him the action would be welcome. He took another deliberate step forwards, only a step away when there was a pounding on the door. Sherlock whirled irritably. 

"What is it now Raphael?" He demanded as his brother burst in. Raph looked surprised to his wings out. Lucifer realized that his brother's hadn't seen his wings in thousands of years, they were much changed. 

"Triple Homicide that has us stumped." Lestrade managed at last. "Your wings..."

"Are much darker than they used to be, I am aware." Sherlock agreed, letting the named appendages flutter dramatically. 

"They are beautiful though, they look healthy. They suit you better I think." Raphael pointed out. Sherlock inclined his head in agreement. 

"Perhaps. Now, don't you have a crime for me to investigate?" Sherlock demanded trying to pretend that this was like any other time his brother had come to ask for his help. He tried to pretend that he hadn’t just been about to kiss his best friend. He hadn’t been about to kiss a human. He didn’t know what to think of it. He hadn’t had a true relationship since Gabriel and that hadn’t exactly ended well. Their relationship had been such a mess of conflicting things. Whenever they had been together physically it was still like a competition. Sherlock’s feelings for the angel could hardly be compared to the unfamiliar warm soft affectionate feeling that filled his chest at the sight of John. Sherlock stored these thoughts away to reflect upon later, he had to deal with his brother first.

“Put on a shirt, then come with me.” Lestrade told him. “And put your wings away, you pompous chicken!” he called as Sherlock walked away. 

“What do your wings look like?” John asked Lestrade curiously. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Lestrade was an archangel. Sherlock and Mycroft made sense, but the detective was so… ordinary. 

“Ahh, they’re a bit pretentious really. We teased Luci about having pure white wings but well…” He let his own wings materialize on his back. They stretched out, shining silver feathers glimmering in the morning light coming in through the window. John’s eyes went wide. Lestrade sighed happily and fluttered his wing a bit. John knew after talking to Sherlock about it that the angels missed having their wings out, it was uncomfortable for them to keep them hidden away after a while. 

Lestrade looked different with his wings out. It wasn’t just the sparkling silver wings on his back, though they certainly made an impression, he seemed to have a different set to his face. He held himself differently. Suddenly he didn’t look so much like an unimposing dectective-inspector. He didn’t look human. John realized that this was the first time he was truly seeing Raphael. At the sight of the sparkling silver wings Fire whimpered from where he had been curled up on the rug. He moved to hide behind John. Raphael chuckled.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, hiding his wings away again. “I’m afraid my wings are very much a thing of heaven, they’re bound to frighten a hellhound.” He explained. 

“It’s alright Fire, Raphael won’t hurt you.” John promised, crouching next to Fire and scratching the dog’s ears affectionately. 

“Defending my hellhound from my angelic brother?” Sherlock asked, as he came back in, sounding amused. 

“He’s a good dog.” John said defensively. A thought occurred to him. “Why didn’t he flinch when you got your wings out? You’re an archangel the same as Raphael.” He asked. The tiny smile that told John he had said something ignorant that pleased Sherlock nonetheless quirked the angel’s lips up. 

“I appreciate the thought that we are the same.” Sherlock said. “But John, I am not the same as Raphael. For all that we are brothers, and I remain technically an archangel, I am also tainted. I bear the distinctive mark of Hell on me. It simply is. Like my wings, they are darker now, touched by the world below. While Fire recognizes Raphael’s untainted aura of the heavenly as an intrinsic threat, as he is, most angels have zero hesitation in killing creatures of hell. He also recognizes me as a creature of Hell in a sense. It also helps that I raised him, and I feed him.” He explained. John noticed that he said all of this not with the disdain that he might have once used to refer to Hell, but in a mild tone. It’s progress. John thought, though he suddenly wasn’t sure what exactly Sherlock was progressing towards. 

“Murders.” Lestrade said, his wings tucked away. He led the way to the door. John and Sherlock followed him to the crime scene. When they got there and through the tape Sherlock focused in on a man being interviewed by the police immediately. He gritted his teeth. 

“The witness, the neighbor, arrest him.” He said to Lestrade. The Detective looked at him in surprise. 

“Did he do it?” He asked. “He has no connection to the other victims.” 

“No, he didn’t kill them. He’s a pedophile and a rapist. Arrest him.” Sherlock said simply. 

“You have no proof.” Lestrade pointed out. 

“I am Lucifer, Lord of the damned, all sins are laid bare before me.” Sherlock reminded him. 

“No need to be dramatic.” Lestrade muttered, wandering away. “Arrest the neighbor, search his house and his laptop.” He told his officers. 

“Arrest him for what?” One asked. 

“Right now, he’s a murder suspect.” Lestrade answered sounding tired. He turned back to Sherlock. “Now will you help me find a murderer?” 

“I found you a rapist.” Sherlock muttered. 

“I probably won’t be able to pin that on him, it’s hard to do. If he’s got child pornography I can send him to jail but it won’t be forever.” Lestrade said sadly. 

“He won’t leave prison.” Sherlock muttered. 

“Sherlock, you can’t afford to do anything reckless.” Lestrade muttered. Sherlock shook his head. 

“I won’t kill him, but I want him dead. I cannot control that, he will be in my thoughts as I sleep. I am a powerful being. My thoughts transmit themselves outward, it’s outside my power. He will die.” Sherlock said darkly. 

“I’m glad.” John said. “Some people deserve punishment.”

“As am I. Punishing them is my job.” Sherlock said. “It’s my responsibility. Father has decreed laws and the consequences of breaking them, I uphold the threats he and my brothers are too pure to carry out.” 

“Not anymore.” Lestrade told him. “That’s not your job anymore.” 

“Hmm, I have yet to be replaced.” Sherlock observed. 

“What about Irene?” Raphael asked. 

“She is frightening my demons, and abusing my hellhounds I would think. She’s overzealous. I thought it might be good for them, to have someone who was eager for the position. I realize now that the problem with Irene is that she only serves herself and her desires, she owes me a certain loyalty, but she doesn’t serve the purposes of God. I, for all my faults, always did.” Sherlock mused. “It was programmed into me, despite my attempts at rebellion.” 

“You sound like you almost want to go back, earth can’t be That bad.” John said chuckling. 

“I am not overeager to return to my imprisonment in Hell no. However, Hell ought to be ruled correctly. If she’s supervised Irene will be fine. I am merely pointing out points of interest for my brother’s sake, and my father’s in case he’s listening.” Sherlock said. 

“You’re giving God tips on how to run Hell?” John asked. Sherlock nodded. 

“Yes. He needs them.” Sherlock said pretentiously sweeping off to properly investigate the crime scene. John knew that he couldn’t approve of people dying especially because of Sherlock, but he couldn’t help approving of Sherlock’s way of handling the man. It was right that he die, that he be punished. It was Just. The fact of the matter was, most of the things Sherlock did as the Prince of Hell were in service of God, they were acts of justice. He punished the wicked. John couldn’t help being a little proud of Sherlock. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t the last time that Sherlock ended up picked out sinners on the streets of London. Most of the time he ignored people but every now and then when they were out and about John would see Sherlock freeze, staring at a particular person. John had gotten used to grabbing Sherlock’s arm to stop him from doing anything in these moments. He would force Sherlock to stop, call Lestrade and report whoever it was instead of just killing them. 

“Scum.” Sherlock muttered as John towed him away from a man who was apparently responsible for the death of his small child, who he abused, along with several animals. “Disgrace to the name of humanity.” 

“Luci, calm down for the love of god.” John muttered. “Raph will get him okay. He’ll be punished. I promise.” 

“My apologies.” Sherlock said, taking a deep breathe and turning away at last. “I simply cannot bear these sorry excuses for souls. They abuse innocents. Innocence is such a rarity in humanity, so precious, and these… beasts destroy it.” He confessed. 

“I’m sorry.” John murmured. “It must be hard, as an angel, not to be able to do anything about it.” 

“It’s hard because I am the devil.” Lucifer answered. “I… I suppose I feel somewhat responsible for sinners. It’s true that it was my job to punish them, but there was a time, directly after I fell when I tried to provoke humans to sin. I wanted to pervert my father’s favorite children, to make them less perfect, to punish them for being his favorites… I was misguided.” 

“You can’t feel responsible for humans being assholes.” John told the angel shaking his head. “Your father created humans the way we are, and we’re fucked up. That’s not your fault.” He argued. 

“It’s somewhat my fault.” Sherlock said. “I was there, trust me.” John sighed huffily. 

“Fine, but it was also millennia ago. Let it go. Sherlock, Lucifer, you’re a good man. I don’t care what you did in the past, you’re a good man.” He said pointedly. With that he turned and walked away before Sherlock could argue. 

Sherlock stared after John and wondered if it could be true. Analyzing the feeling in his chest. Is he good? He can’t tell. He thought perhaps that Sherlock is a good man, but is Lucifer? Could Lucifer ever be good? Could he really be more than the broken creature he’s been for so long? He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of being “good” not without reminding himself of all the reasons why it could never be true. 

“Luci? You coming?” John asked turning back. It was all suddenly more than he could take. 

“I’ll be back at the flat later, John.” he said, waving the other man off. 

“You okay?” John asked. Sherlock nodded. 

“Of course I am John.” He answered imperiously, before sweeping away in the opposite direction. He ignored the voice in his head that told him that this was a bad idea. He ignored the part of him that knew he would regret this. That he ought to just turn back and walk home with John. He couldn’t. Instead he went back to a place that he told himself he would never go to again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally get together

John had to ask Fire to track Sherlock down for him. Hellhounds, he found, were useful. They had very strong noses and Fire seemed to be able to sniff Lucifer out wherever he was. John was grateful. If the dog hadn’t been able to do it, he would have had to ask Raphael, or even worse, Michael for help. He didn’t want to impose Sherlock’s brothers on him when he might not want them there. Sherlock definitely did not want them there. He definitely did not want them in this crack-house where Sherlock had sprawled out on a mattress by all the other junkies. 

“Are you really that terrified of the idea that you might be a good person?” John demanded, staring down at him. 

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed. “Don’t know how to be good.” 

“You’re an idiot!” John snapped, pulling Sherlock to his feet and dragging him roughly from the house. He was silent the entire way home, ignoring Sherlock’s occasional “John”s. Sherlock turned to cuddle with Fire instead. The dog was sitting on top of them both in the back of the taxi John had shoved Sherlock into. 

“Has it occurred to you that you don’t have to change what you do in order to be good?!” John shouted as soon as he had thrown Sherlock back into their flat. “That you don’t have to panic and go get high to manage it?! Have you ever considered in that huge clever brain of yours that you cannot escape this! You can’t forget it! You can’t ignore what you did just to come to terms with what you are now! You’re good! You’re a good being, whether you like it or not, and that isn’t a contradiction of what you did in your past, that’s just what’s happening now and you’re going to have to reconcile the two!” He was ranting. 

“You don’t know the horrors that I am trying to escape.” Sherlock told him. 

“I don’t care!” John shouted. “You can’t keep running! You have to accept yourself Lucifer! You can’t just drug yourself into oblivion to hide from your past!”

“Why do you care?” Sherlock asked.

“Because if you keep hiding from the past you’ll never have a future!” John yelled. 

“Why do you care?” Sherlock asked again, amused. John stared at him and something broke. When he spoke again it was with a quieter voice, but it still shook with anger. 

“Because I thought I was your future, you dick.” He growled before whirling to retreat into his room and slam the door. Sherlock wanted to catch him before he could get away entirely but he wasn’t fast enough when his mind and body were slowed by drugs. Suddenly he didn’t find it so amusing so be high.

“John.” He breathed quietly, suddenly completely lost as to what to do.” It was time to stop being high. With a rush of power he burned the drugs from his system. His mind went ice clear and cold. Using his angelic power made his wings emerge and they ripped through his shirt. He shook the shards of it off of him as he followed John up the stairs. He didn’t bother to knock, just tore the door open. John was sitting on his bed with his head in his hands, looking broken. 

“John, I’m sorry.” Sherlock said. John stared at him. 

“Did you just apologize?” he asked. “You never apologize.” 

“I ran, John. I ran from you because you’re right, you are my future, and that terrifies me. I am terrified because you are nothing but good, and I’m terrified that I’ll ruin you. I ruined Gabriel, I ruined, humanity, I didn’t want to ruin you. I have been avoiding thinking about the ways in which I’ve changed, but you forced me to. I am trying to earn redemption through actions, but I never dared to hope that I might be truly different. It requires a complete shift of my world view, I’ve been set in my ways for millennia, it’s easier. You forced me to recognize change. I was scared. I ran to the only thing that I knew would stop the whirling in my mind. It’s what I did when I first remembered who I was. It’s the only escape from my own mind I’ve ever known. It was wrong.” John’s face contorted. He looked angry for a second like he might yell at Sherlock, but then he looked at Sherlock properly and his face fell. He sighed.

“You’re dealing with thousands of thousands of years of being a mess, I shouldn’t expect you to be able to fix that in a few months.” John answered, standing up. “I’m an idiot for saying it, but you are forgiven, Lucifer.” 

“I shouldn’t be.” Lucifer responded. “I ran from you. You. The most important person. John, my John, the man who forgave the devil. I shouldn’t run from you, I don’t ever want to run from you.” 

“Sherlock, I- christ Luci, what am I supposed to say to that?” 

“Say I can kiss you.” Sherlock answered. He hadn’t known it was what he was going to say until he heard the words himself. 

“Can’t you deduce?” John asked taking a step forwards. 

“No, not this. I won’t rely on probability with you.” He answered. 

“Please.” John breathed. “Please, kiss me.” Sherlock closed the distance between them with two quick strides and leaned down to press his lips against John’s. As soon as he did John wrapped his arms tight around his neck. Sherlock curled his arms tight around John’s back easily lifting him up so they were the same height. His wings curled around them both naturally, encasing them both in a feathery cage. 

Lucifer almost couldn’t believe this. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. It wasn’t a fight the way his relationship with Gabriel had always been, even when they were kissing. It wasn’t the desperate emotionless thing he’d had with Irene, either. Instead John kissed him in a way that was somehow fierce and sweet. A combination of years of built up tension, the fire that was John, and the steadiness that always evened Sherlock out. He had quickly accepted Lucifer’s absurd strength and just lifted his legs up to wrap them around Sherlock who used it as an excuse to wrap his arms lower around John’s ass to hold him up better. John’s hands were moving along Sherlock’s back. He hesitated before reaching for his wings. 

“Can I?” he asked, breathless. 

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed instantly, “But be careful.” He added. 

“Relax, I’m a doctor.” John told him, reaching a gentle hand up to stroke the base of his wings, careful fingers burying themselves in soft feathers. Sherlock gasped slightly. It was an intimate thing to touch an angel’s wings. No one had laid a finger on them since Gabriel. Sherlock turned to trace kisses down John’s neck, before pausing to nip at a spot near his pulse point. John gasped. 

“Shit, Sherlock.” he hissed, as the detective sucked and bit a series of hickey’s down his neck. After what might as well have been several centuries of pure wonder Sherlock let his wings snap back and moved forwards to drop John onto the bed. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful.” John said, staring up at him. Sherlock almost couldn’t believe this man, who knew him, who knew all of him and still looked at him and thought he was beautiful. This man who believe he was good. He almost didn’t believe it, but Lucifer was done being in denial, and he was done denying himself this. He followed John onto the bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Lucifer?” John asked quietly later, as they lay on his bed, tired and naked. “Can you promise me that this wasn’t a one time thing? I need to know that this wasn’t just you needing to get off and me being there, or about you being high or something. God, I forgot you were high.”

“I’m not, I haven’t been from the moment you stormed up here, I burned the drugs from my system, I have to choose to let them affect me anyway.” Sherlock assured him. 

“Thank god.” John muttered. 

“As for your other query, I could never have you, and then give you up. You’re important. I love you.”

“Sentiment Sherlock? I thought that was a characteristic of the losing side?”

“Surely you’ve realized that half of the statements that come out of my mouth don’t apply to you.” Sherlock answered. “I thought even you could figure that out.”

“Did you just insult me?” John asked incredulously, “We just- and now you’re calling me stupid.” He was laughing. 

“Well, you did just sleep with the devil himself, John. Your intelligence would be seriously questioned by anyone who knew that.”

“Not anyone who has seen you.” John answered shamelessly. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“God are you going to be this insufferable for the rest of our relationship?” Sherlock drawled. 

“Oh, it’s a relationship now?”

“I told you I loved you, and that this was not a one time thing.” Sherlock said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I love you too by the way.” John responded. 

“I know.” Sherlock said smugly to cover the broken shock in his chest that anyone could love him. 

“And you called me insufferable.” John said but he squeezed Sherlock’s hand tightly. 

“If you call me your boyfriend I will leave you.” Sherlock said. 

“Is partner acceptable, Luci?” John asked. 

“Must you?” Lucifer asked. 

“Yes, I won’t very well call you my flatmate now. You are my partner Lucifer, accept it.” 

“Fine. You’re infuriating.” Sherlock answered getting up. “I have to feed the dog.” he said in answer to John’s questioning look. He didn’t bother to put any clothes on as he walked down the steps. He could feel John watching him as he walked away. Something in his chest was lighter than it had been in mellennia. It felt like a perfect new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The devil gives John impure thoughts... 
> 
> Anyway, drop me a comment if you like this fic, if you don'c, well I don't blame you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A terrorist attack threatens all of London, the angels are ordered to stand down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last chapter. I forgot to post one yesterday I think, sorry about that. Anyway here we go.

Naturally it couldn’t last. When his brother turned up the next day Sherlock wanted to kill him. He knew the look on Michael’s face. It was Michael, distinctively not Mycroft. He looked very far from human. It was a look that usually came with a fiery sword.

“What?” He snapped, desperate to make Michael leave. He wanted his brother far away, far far away from this place where John was sleeping only a few steps away.

“This is a courtesy visit. Raphael and I are leaving London, you should take John and do the same.” Michael said curtly. 

“Why?” Sherlock demanded. “Something big is coming? What is it? What’s happening?” 

“A very well planned terrorist attack.” Michael admitted. 

“So stop it. That’s your job.” Sherlock said dismissively. His brother sighed. 

“I only know it’s coming because father himself warned me of it, to interfere now would break the heavenly mandate. I cannot do anything. Letting you take John is nearly treasonous as it is.” Michael admitted. 

“This is our job. We stop things like this. We prevent them.” 

“Not this one. This one was not on any of our radars. They outsmarted us, or we were distracted. It doesn’t matter. We cannot stop it without changing the course of humanity with heavenly knowledge. That is not what we are meant to do. We are here to observe, to play act as human.” Michael said, and there was something horribly close to pity in his eyes and it made Sherlock want to kill him. Michael was not supposed to be sympathetic, or understanding, and Lucifer was not pitiful. 

“Fine. Leave then, I have to wake John, call Molly, convince Mrs Hudson…” Sherlock said thinking about he would convince his friends to leave London, wondering if there was anyone else he needed to get out of the city. There were so many innocent souls, children, animals. He didn’t know what type of attack was coming, he didn’t know how many would be hurt. He couldn’t allow this. 

“Only John, Lucifer. Even that is a stretch. You can’t tell anyone else.” Michael said sternly. 

“No.” 

“This is our mandate from God, our father in heaven; that we do not interfere in the events that shape humanity unless explicitly given permission.” Michael snapped. 

“No.” Sherlock repeated. 

“Brother to disobey this is to rebel against God!” Michael thundered. “Again.” He added, voice sounding nearly desperate now. “Lucifer, please, Luci…. Don’t make us lose you again.” He begged. Sherlock blinked. He had never seen Michael beg, not to their parents as Mycroft the human child, not to their Father as an Angelic one. He saw John appear at the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

“I… I understand.” Lucifer told his brother at last. 

“Raphael and I are going to my cottage in France. And you?”

“Scotland.” Sherlock answered automatically, because it made sense. Mycroft would expect it. 

“Yes. Text me when you arrive safely. Do leave before tomorrow morning.” Mycroft said, and he had slipped back into his human persona. All evidence of the angel hidden away behind a smug face. 

“Of course. Goodbye for now. Brother mine.” Lucifer said firmly. Mycroft left. He hadn’t even said anything smug about John and Sherlock which must have taken an astonishing amount of restraint considering he had clearly seen the hickey on Sherlock’s neck. 

“What did your brother want?” John asked. 

“Us to leave London.” Lucifer answered already in motion. There was so much to do, and rapidly decreasing time in which to do it. 

“Why?”

“Because terrorists are about to blow it up in some way or other.” Sherlock answered absently, trying to think. He needed more info. He needed eyes, he needed a bloody army of them to figure this out. 

“Why aren’t we stopping them?” John asked, calm despite everything.

“We only know because my brother got a divine tip off, courtesy no doubt of the connection he and Raphael still have with heaven. However they have been ordered not to interfere… we all have. It’s my father’s law. To disobey is to rebel against heaven. Angels are incapable of such disobedience.” Sherlock explained, voice faltering a little.

“And?” John asked. “What are you going to do?” Sherlock stopped. Stopped moving, stopped plotting, and turned towards John, his John, John who already knew Sherlock couldn’t just leave. Sherlock closed the space between them quickly, and kissed John. 

“Something unforgivable.” He answered, before striding away, wings bursting from his back. 

“Sherlock! Lucifer, wait!” John called, and perhaps normally he would have ignored him, but this wasn’t normally, so he stopped.

“You can’t just say shit like that, Sherlock. Tell me what’s going on.” John ordered. 

“I don’t know. All I know if something horrible will happen in this city tomorrow morning and I can’t let it.” Sherlock answered. “I need you to get Mrs Hudson and Molly out of the city, and anyone else we know who you can. You too. Just in case.”

“You can’t. Didn’t you just say that you couldn’t disobey God.” John protested. Sherlock smiled.

“No. I said Angels couldn’t, but I am the devil. I am Lucifer, the Morning-Star, I am born of disobedience. Father cannot cast me out of heaven, I have already been cast out. I will not bow to his will and allow this to happen.” He declared. 

“You can’t just throw away your family that way, Sherlock. This life is your only chance to go home.” John protested. 

“I am home, John. I am not meant to be in Heaven. I am the Lord of hell. Someone needs to make sure that the wicked suffer, and that’s me. I was never going to be able to follow blindly again.” Lucifer answered. “I need to figure out what is happening, quickly. You need to leave London with Mrs Hudson and Molly.” 

“I’m not leaving.” John answered flatly. “I’ll get Molly and Mrs H. out, but I’m staying. And before you fly out the window or something can you tell me what you’re going to do, exactly?” 

“I’m the devil. I’m going to call the legions of hell.” Sherlock declared, and then leapt out of the window. 

He didn’t care if anyone saw him. He let his wings snap out. He loved them, the black that faded to pure white. He flew to the top of a warehouse on the outskirts of London calling for his servants. Fire appeared at his side when he landed. His demons emerged from the shadows to report to his side. He sent them into the city, to find him the information he needed. He worked through the night. He was so busy directing them, planning, that he didn’t notice his phone ringing the first few times. Finally he noticed and answered when it was nearly dawn. 

“Oh, thank god. Sherlock. Where are you?” John breathed from the other end of the line. 

“Are Molly and Mrs Hudson safe?” Lucifer asked. 

“Yes, they are, they’re confused but safe.” John answered. “Luci, where are you. I’m coming to you.” 

“No. I’ll meet you. I need to move. I need to be high up. I’ll pick you up at Bart’s, on the roof.” He said quickly. 

“Be there in five minutes.” John answered. Sherlock waited for a moment and then flew through the night. He savored the light of the moon and stars. He enjoyed darkness, but there was a different sort of Blackness in hell, one without stars. He would miss the stars, when he returned to hell, but there was an elegance and a purity to the darkness below. It was, he thoughts, better than the pure blinding white of heaven. It suited him better. He swooped down towards Bart’s. John was waiting for him. He looked up as Sherlock descended. 

“You’re just showing off aren’t you?” John asked as he landed, but his eyes were wide with awe. Sherlock smiled. He had altered his appearance slightly, made his coat stretch into a proper cloak, and just for show sprouted curled horns from out of his hair. 

“I thought I might as well look the part.” Lucifer said with a smile. “Horns were a part of the image were they not?” 

“And did you also sprout a tail?” John laughed. 

“No, and my horns are midnight blue not red. And if you must know, I have worn them before, when I felt dramatic.” He confessed. “Now, my love. Hang on.” He added wrapping an arm tight around John before launching himself back into the sky. 

“Sherlock!” John yelled, going still in fear. 

“I’d never drop you.” Sherlock promised. He set them both down at the top of The Shard. 

“What now?” John asked. 

“There are several bombs in the city, no off switches, only a timed detonation.” Sherlock answered. “I have hellhounds out after those who planted them.” 

“And the bombs?” John asked. 

“Wait.” Sherlock instructed, taking John’s hand. “They are set to go off with the sunrise.” The sun was already glowing at the horizon. 

Lucifer stepped forward, John’s hand in his.and called out in the tongue of demons, a language of his own creation in his years of madness, one he had not spoken in several centuries. He called out for his demons, his minions and his creations, they took to the skies, clutching explosives in their claws, flying higher and higher, before releasing them and shooting towards their master, who stood at the top of the building wings outstretched, darkness lingering around him even as the sun should have reached him. Explosive’s fell and exploded in the air around them. John kept his hand clenched tight but didn’t flinch. Just watched as demons swirled through the air and explosions tore through the sky above London. 

Below them people must have been screaming, sirens wailing, but they were too high above it all, and the screeching of demons drowned it out. The demons kept their distance from actually approaching. They still feared their master. He found himself pleased by it. Still why the explosions stopped he reached out a hand.

“Begone.” He said, sending them swirling in a spiral towards the earth. “You’ll be rewarded.” He added, in the demon tongue. 

“What language is that?” John asked. “It’s sort of beautiful, in a terrifying way.” Lucifer smiled, because only John could find beauty in such an dark thing. It seemed to be his special talent. 

“It has no name. I created it, in the early years of my time in hell, for the demons.” 

“Why?” He asks. “Why risk your chance at freedom, when the people you care about are safe?” 

“London is my city. The people here, they aren’t all good, but enough of them are innocents. I couldn’t let all of them die. Only sinners deserve to be punished.” Sherlock answered. 

“Look at you. You grew a heart after all didn’t you?” John asked. 

“Yes. For you…” Sherlock answered. John raised his eyebrows. “And the rest of the idiots on this planet, I suppose.” He admitted. 

“I love you.” John said softly. Before Sherlock could respond, the wind and darkness vanished, and they were standing in a bright white room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought! (Well I mean if you hated it maybe keep those thoughts to yourself but otherwise)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Sherlock and John have a chat with god and all that jazz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter my friends. I really hope you liked this, and that you appreciate the ending.

Lucifer and John looked around. It wasn’t even a room, just a bright white expanse. Sherlock knew that it must be nearly blinding to John. To him… it was a sight he hadn’t seen in a very long time. The being standing before them was more familiar than almost anyone, a face anyone would recognize even if they had never seen it before.

“Lucifer.” His voice was deep.

“Father.” Lucifer greeted, bowing his head slightly to God. 

“God?” John asked a little hoarsely. “Nice to meet you.” 

“John Watson, you are not supposed to be here, but unfortunately my son would not let go of you. He is fond of you.” 

“Sorry?” John offered. The Lord chuckled.

“No need to apologize. You’re a good man. If my son didn’t have other plans, I have no doubt I would see you here again.” 

“Are we in heaven?” John asked. 

“Obviously.” Lucifer answered. 

“Are we dead?” John asked. 

“No.” God answered. “I merely wished to talk.” 

“I refuse to apologize for saving thousands of lives.” Lucifer insisted. 

“I did not ask you to. I am proud of you, Lucifer. You did a good thing.” God told him. “You did a necessary thing, something that my other children never could have done.” 

“This whole giving me a second chance thing wasn’t just about earning forgiveness.” Lucifer said flatly. God smiled. “You wanted me to want to be the devil.” 

“I am in need of a Lord of Hell. It is necessary to have a Hell to counter heaven, Punishing the wicked is a holy task. One that no demon can take charge of.” 

“You didn’t want me to come home, you wanted me to go back to Hell, from the beginning.” Lucifer said with a sigh. 

“I wanted to give you a choice. I wanted you to have a chance to redeem yourself, and choose to return to your place as Prince of Hell as my loyal son, a son who is always welcome in Heaven to visit his family.” His father answered. “I am proud of you, Lucifer, and I love you. If you wish, you may return to heaven after your death as a human. You can even bring John with you, I’d give him wings. If you return to heaven, you would have to act as an Archangel, obey my laws. Or, you can return and rule Hell, and you can still take your Human with you.” He offered.

“I love you father… but I was never good at obeying the laws of heaven.” Lucifer admitted. God smiled. 

“I know.” He said. “Does this mean you’ll do your job?”

“I will not be imprisoned? I will be free to come and go at will?” 

“I swear it.” 

“Then yes. I will return to my palace in the pit.” Lucifer agreed, smiling. “But not immediately.”

“No, you still have a fair amount of life left to live.” God said with a smile, he nodded at John. “The both of you.” 

“Thank you.” Lucifer said, bowing low. John followed suit. They were back in their flat before either of them could so much as straighten. 

“Well.” John said, a little stunned. 

“He has a flair for the dramatic.” Sherlock commented. 

“You say that like you are not currently wearing a cloak and have horns.” John commented. Sherlock laughed.

“Well, I got it from somewhere.” He said.

“Yeah, but honestly, the whole horns and cloak, master of darkness king of hell thing? It suits you.” John told him a glint in his eyes.

“It is me.” Sherlock answered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John Watson died at a very old age. When Sherlock Holmes died a few days later no one was surprised. Everyone knew Sherlock loved his husband with all his heart. Lucifer, finally free of his elderly human body let his wings spread behind him as he leapt into the sky, and went to fetch his husband. 

John Watson was a good man, and for a few days, a decent angel, but as it turned out, he made an excellent Prince of Hell. Lucifer set a second, albeit slightly smaller throne next to his in his wide throne room, and the palace ended up filled with books, and sometimes demons found jumpers lying about, but they were never brave enough to ask. Sometimes, their prince, the small sandy haired being with deep blue-black wings, would call their Lord and Master “Sherlock” Affectionately. They didn’t mention it. The demons knew better than to cross Lucifer, and they knew much better than to ever cross his partner, who despite his good heart, and his pure soul, had no mercy for the damned or the wicked. 

Lucifer and John visited Michael and Raphael in heaven frequently. And once a year Lucifer would go alone, to the cell in heaven where his father had placed Gabriel, as a reminder to himself. He didn’t feel anything but pity for the broken angel, but he made himself go, he made himself listen to Gabriel rage against the race of humanity the way he once had. He would never let himself forget what he had broken when he had fallen from Heaven, but then he returned to John. John who would never let him forget that humans were worth falling for. Someone had to protect them from the wicked, someone had to punish the damned, and Sherlock was very good at his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, drop me a comment to let me know.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are most welcome!


End file.
